State of Mind
by SafeEyesOpen
Summary: "Fear is only a state of mind after all." 475th Games SYOT.
1. Power Above All Others

Some people say reality is nothing but a cruel illusion. They say that reality can be dangerous; and make people think in weird ways. For some, reality is bliss; enchanting even. And for others, it's cold and demeaning, something that makes you shudder beneath frail covers. Reality rest upon the shoulders of those attempting to acquire power above all others. They try and tell you that it isn't. They'll say that power revolves around its citizens.

And more than anything; they lie.

:~:

_Presidents hold spots of bishops and crowns as they sneak about the board in pristine white gowns. The others are simply pawns for their games, knocked to the ground if they fail among the frames. While others watch out for obvious threats, the crown slivers to power and wins the game of chess. _

_President Revlon Hathe._

Above all, a leader is smart.

Smart, yes, but not in the ways you would think of it. The people believe that the president is intelligent in the ways of math and science. Or perhaps reading and language. And they're right; just not in the ways they think they are.

A president is smart in math. It takes one, two, three drinks for one to become drunk and spill all their secrets. A president is smart in science. They know that a simple berry can be just as deadly as chloroformic acid. Or maybe reading. Reading peoples behaviors and actions to learn whether or not they speak the truth. And language. A president must always know what to tell its citizens after all.

Yes, presidents are very intelligent.

My name is Revlon Hathe, and as of current, I rule Panem. The districts would say that the Games put into play here are…as we say…cruel?

Yet, they don't realize how essential they are.

For a nation to function things need to be kept under control. My control, specifically. All of the other presidents have had failures when it came to controlling our nation. President Sharp, the first ruler of Panem, led everyone into the Dark Days and out, with a game that had little to no excitement. Then President Snow, who let a revolution evolve due to a girl with berries, a braid, and a bow. Then Coin, who was shot days after acquiring power. But Coin, as it is, was probably the smartest of them all. It was with rubbery fingers that she climbed the ladder of power among the others and she hid her secrets well.

The people simply say that she wanted power to feel in control.

I am not one of those people.

The president wanted power because power is held above everyone else. The one In power is the one everyone must look out for, the one that everyone must speak truthfully too. The one that everyone watches out for as well, because the biggest fact about someone in power…

They're not there by coincidence.

* * *

"Revlon darling, these Games are going to be such a splash." Says my stylist, Gihn.

"Do you know what they quell twist is?" He asks me, obviously prying for information to bet with.

I know it of course, I'm the president. These arenas are made up throughout the year; the ideas thought up throughout history. But this particular year I am intrigued by. Never has a quell been like this, and I'm interested to see what the tributes will make of it.

I myself have walked through parts of the vast arena, parts that _are_ included, to fit along the lines of the tributes ideas themselves. And I can't even imagine the fears that will be placed into the Games this year.

"No, I don't." I tell him, and stand up, walking out of the glittery room.

Though most citizens in the Capitol find the pretentious clothes here to be of the best, I don't. In all honesty, I find them distracting and dull. Dull, as in the intelligence in the person. No wonder the districts have always been smarter than the people here. They don't focus on petty things such as themselves.

But if the districts knew that, they would use it to their greatest advantage, and that's not happening during my term.

I walk around backstage, thinking to myself about the reading of the card that is about to happen. The districts probably think that the Games are rigged every year; that we don't use the actual card. In a regular year, such is true. But I've pledged to myself to use an original card for each and every quell. Not in their order exactly, but a card among the box at the least.

This year's quell is incredibly interesting. I'll give at least some of our ancestor's props; they got creative and quite daft when it came to these ideas.

I pace around the room some more and stop before a mirror, staring into the reflection of the women I've become.

For a Capitol citizen, I would say I appear strangely normal.

I have white blonde hair and pale blue eyes, with bright red lipstick spread across my Capitol known smile. Some call me _Red Revlon_, a name I take a liking to among the Districts. Sometimes I hear it with awe. Other times I hear it with bitter hate.

But their opinions don't matter to me. I'm the president. And I can do as I please.

* * *

The moment has finally approached for the reading of the card.

The entire sea of Capitol citizens awaits my presence in the town square, and as I sit in my throne, gazing upon the area, I can't help but remember the tributes of the past few Games strolling through the center on their chariots and costumes. From the front, I can see a memory of the District One girl, Esmerelda, a girl who I personally liked. She was great for the audiences, and I even felt a bit pitiful when I sent in mutts to kill her.

Farther back, I can remember Talia, the small, weak District Seven girl. Her stylist has finally made a splash by transforming her into a hovering woodland fairy, and she had simply floated above the others like a queen. I remember her smile. She didn't have a mouth to smile with anymore after the Games though.

And finally, in the very back, I can see the bright flame of fire from the girl who almost ruined Panem; Katniss Everdeen. Her male partner was in this as well, but not as big a part. No, Katniss Everdeen is most definitely the smartest tribute in the history of Panem, though once she failed the others seemed to not recognize it.

She was the one girl who finally understood the weakness of the nation and targeted it, becoming a face to a revolution that should have never existed. She lived long enough to kill Snow, shoot the new President, and then ate some sort of instant death pill that the rebels referred to as _nightlock._

The boy, Peeta, attempted to stop her, but to no avail. He was simply too late, and then he himself committed suicide. Just as the rebels had thought they had won, it seemed they suddenly had lost again. With no face or ego to the cause, they fell, and the Capitol gained control once more.

Funny how quickly sweet solutions can turn so sour.

"Revlon, it's time." Says Fodeen Verse, the man I've assigned to run these Games. It's not really run by a Gamemakers this year, simply a specialized team who are going to steal the tributes thoughts and fears. They are in charge of completing the arena along with this task, and so it's vital for the tributes to be chosen soon. This year I decided to stretch out the date of the card reading only a week before the Games. And soon, so soon, they will play out.

I nod, and stand, lifting my ancient purple robe off the ground. Seneca Crane wore this same robe when he ran Katniss Everdeen's Games, and every year I wear it as a cruel reminder to the districts; a warning that a rebellion is to never happen again.

Finally, I approach the microphone that is held above the city, staring down at my people, a merciless army who doesn't even realize they're being played.

I clear my throat and lift my head, addressing a crowd that immediately falls silent.

"Welcome, Panem, to the reading of this year's card!" I cheer to the nation, and the Capitol citizens roar in impatience. Everyone's dying to know what lies on the crisp white paper.

Before I know it, a little boy with pale green eyes approaches me proudly; proud to have such an honor as delivering the box.

I take it from his hands and open it, pulling out the first envelope that grazes my fingers. I hold it in front of me, and read the worn **_475_** on the front before closing my eyes and unveiling a card I've already read.

I review it, taunting the audience, and I can feel the tension among the nation.

How bad is it this year?

Horrid.

I open my mouth, and begin to read the card in my hands.

"And with this year's quell, in tribute to the Dark Days, where power was so essential, the tributes must learn in the ways of the Capitol's victory over the rebels. The twist to these Games is that instead of Gamemakers creating and controlling the arena, the competitors will build up these Games based on their fears and achievements, from the bloody start to the inevitable finish."

I hear the silence that rings out among the nation.

Based on their fears and achievements?

Yes.

And for the tributes sake…I would plead to have an inactive imagination this year.

Fear really is only a state of mind after all.

* * *

Okay!

Well I'm happy to be starting this, and I get it's a bit confusing now. But don't worry, it will be explained. XD If you'd like to submit PM me for a tribute form! Remember this is not first come first serve. Apply for anything. If I like yours I'll chose it and if I don't it will either be put under a different district or it won't be used. I want to try and use everyone's so don't worry, you'll probably get in. :P

Please review, and what did you think of the twist? ;o

-Vix.


	2. A Changing of Alliance

When it comes to life within certain societies, it can be tricky. You can either trust those around you or sell them out to keep yourself safe. You can protect them from danger or become petty and focus only on yourself. Yes, in societies, it can be _very_ tricky.

The key is knowing the solution to the act.

:~:

_The strongest don't always hold power in games, rather they sometimes lay back and relish in fame. For some it's not about power; only the praise. And for others the selflessness is only a phase._

_Head Game Monitor Fodeen Verse._

For some, power is the greatest thing someone can achieve. It's something infinite they feel; something that people feel a need to have. Some people simply feel power is their ere to life.

They're wrong.

Power is simply a thought. It's not real, nor is it obtainable. I'm real. I can stand before a mirror, see myself, feel my skin, smell the Capitol scents, taste my lip that I bite down on, and hear the sounds I make when I speak to others.

_That_ is something real.

The others among the Capitol feel that power is what supports them, gives them a verve against all others. For some reason, the people feel something that technically doesn't exist is what gives them life in this society.

People are god damn idiots.

I don't feel I have power. Sure, I run the highest team in the Games, and I control what is going to happen. That's simply it. Control; I have control.

On the controversy, _control _and _power_ are two very different things.

There's control. I can control things. I can control the items and objects and mutts in the arena around me, somewhat like a sixth sense. I feel what it does. I know how it moves. In a statistic term, I understand how it _works_.

Control, yes is something, really.

I can see myself controlling things. I can watch, I can interact, and I can simply speak and things will be done for me. I have control over others in my team. If I say _find me a blueprint, _someone will escort to my aids and whims. But do I have power? No.

Control is something of choice. Power is simply an illusion.

People trick your mind into thinking that they hold something over you. But in reality, they don't. Power is unrealistic. It's non-existent, simply a thought or opinion.

The parents in Panem feel they have power over their children. But do they? Every year they still get reaped. They still starve. And all-in-all, they still _die_. How's that for power?

It isn't; thus proving my opinion into fact.

You can say that just because it isn't there, doesn't mean it isn't real.

But statistically speaking, as I am, you're wrong.

* * *

"Verse, have you decided when we're going to stock the Cornucopia?" starts off my fellow Game Monitor, Juliar Mont. "Revlon wants to know when we plan on having it finished." He says, and I turn away.

Revlon Hathe is a pathetic excuse for a human being.

_Red Revlon_, as they call her, is simply a "power" hungry individual who climbed to the top of our so called, "society," and took a spot sitting above everyone else. They woman believes that she is the smartest of all, trickable by no one.

The woman is dead wrong.

From her pale blonde hair that dust over her shoulders to the signature red lips that accompany her, Revlon Hathe is most certainly not as she calls it, _intelligent._ She acts as though she has the skills to run an entire nation, the guts to stand down anyone who threatens her position, and the authority to do whatever she pleases in Panem.

The woman has something coming for her. Whether now or later, karma will strike the witch in the heart, and her blue eyes will lie still at an empty funeral.

Revlon thinks she runs this operation. She had the nerve to come down and inspect the arena, walk along its premises, _my_ premises, and tell me that I've done her work nicely.

I would have slapped the red out of those lips if I could have.

But no, I will not sink down to the level of Revlon Hathe. Something as pathetic as that woman deserves to rot below the ground and simply disappear from memory.

If my point hadn't been made clear, I'll establish it now; I hate Revlon Hathe.

* * *

I walk around my future arena, grazing my hands along the pristine, white surface of the Cornucopia. In about two and a half weeks, the pieces will turn red with the blood of the tributes that will fight, and in about a month a crew will come in and preserve it.

All arenas are sacred, though I don't understand why.

Keeping an arena is like dwelling on a bad memory. If we keep the old arenas, what does that do to our ideas? If I simply have hundreds of arenas lying around the nation, what does that do for new inspiration? Nothing. It simply calls forth all the previously used ideas. Why is there always a forest and lake? A cornucopia shaped like something that was eaten away?

They leave everything here because they have no originality to call their own.

This Game will be different. My ideas are never before seen; and not to mention the things that will come from the tributes imaginations.

I think it would be fascinating to live in the districts; a place of constant uproar and creativity. Though I would never tell anyone, I wish they would overthrow the Capitol once more. Hell, I would help them do it if they had a shot.

And speaking of shots; I would point the death blow at the _oh so famous _Revlon Hathe.

I wouldn't even feel pity as her blood sprayed across the room.

How's that for _Red Revlon?_

* * *

I stand before a mirror in my quarters, wearing a deep black gown that hangs over my shoes.

I have a sort of grim reaper ensemble, and I roll my eyes.

Of course, _Revlon_ picked these distasteful disgraces.

My deep brown hair hangs in my face, highlighting my strange, forest green orbs. People seem to become entranced by them; lost in the depth. I don't see why though. To me, it's simply something natural.

Maybe that's why it's so shocking.

I turn for the door and become agitated when it opens for me.

Can I not do anything for myself anymore?

I walk out, biting my lip as I turn down hallways that for some would be a maze. But not for me, I'm used to these familiar grey walls and crisp white tiles. It's plain; and that's why I like it.

Finally, I come across the door I'm looking for and push it open with ease. I see the entire crew sitting at an office table, each one of them covered in the same black robes as I am. I also see some unfamiliar faces, that don't look as affected. District unaffected even. Who knows anymore.

And then, at the head of it all, wonder who.

Ms. Revlon Hathe.

She motions for me to sit, and I grit my teeth as I take a seat in the perfect middle, in-between my fellow Game Monitors.

"Now that you're all here…" She starts off, her raspy voice trilling, "I'd like to address some problems."

Oh, for all that is holy.

Problems?

This is ought to be interesting.

"Our Arena is not up to standard. I have seen many problems, so please, explain them to me." She says, her blue eyes locked on my green ones.

Me? What does she want an explanation of? My arena is above and beyond. If she thinks she can do better, then please, she can have my robe and show me.

"What are the problems that you see?" I ask, my teeth gritted.

I see one of the unknown men turn to another, whispering something into his ear quickly.

Stupid Revlon doesn't even notice.

"Well, for starters, what is that for a Cornucopia?" She asks me.

My Cornucopia is not something ordinary as it has been throughout the years. It's different and cunning. That's probably why she dislikes it.

People here hate change.

"Something original." I tell her bluntly, and I see the same men drop their mouths and gasp. I don't care. Someone needed to tell her it was so.

"Original…" She mumbles, clearly irritated at the attitude I've given her.

"Do you need a hearing aid? Yes." I say, and after that I bite my tongue. What am I doing?

Revlon looks astonished at what I've just said, and suddenly, as if by magic, my name is called over the intercom, along with the two whisperers.

"Fodeen Verse, Ail Hart, and Kope Maraj please report to the arena entrance."

I look at her, smiling lightly, as I say, "That's my call!"

I stand, push my chair in, and walk out along with the other men who seem strangely unaffected by the mysterious calling of their names.

I start to lead them, and they shake their heads, taking my arm and leading me another way.

I'm confused. What are they doing?

They finally come up to a door I haven't seen, bolted in metal and soundproof by the looks of it.

They pull me in, and I follow, for reasons I don't know. I'm curious, and once the door is closed they look me in the eyes.

"You're a rebel." One of them says blankly.

I simply stare back. A rebel? I haven't done anything to support the rebel cause.

But my mouth doesn't deny it. What does that say?

Nothing. I'm simply mute.

"We'd like you to join the revolution." Says the other, pushing his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes.

I stare back.

"Are you rebels?" I ask stupidly, and regret it the second it spills from my mouth. Obviously they're rebels.

"Yes. And we'd like you to join us. We've been watching you Verse. We know you hate Revlon, and we have a plan to get rid of her." Says the blonde, and my mouth hangs open.

How do these people know so much about my thoughts? How do they have a plan?

And better yet, why haven't I said no?

"Our plan is happening soon, and we need your help Verse. And if you do, we'll even let you be the one to put a bullet through her head." He says, reasoning with the thing he knows I want so bad.

But how does he know?

I don't know what to think. Rebels? Me? Rebel soldier Fodeen Verse. It has a nice ring to it. Am I a rebel at heart? Am I destined for the cause?

Obviously. Because I haven't said no.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, and they both turn and look at each other before speaking.

"We want that arena to have a weak spot. And we want to break into it." They say, and look away.

They must know such a thing is almost impossible. How can I inconspicuously change something like that?

"Will you become a rebel Verse?" the blonde ask me, looking straight into my eyes.

It feels I have a challenge; something to acquire.

"Yes." I answer.

You can kiss my ass Revlon.

How's that for power.

* * *

Oh my. The Head Game Monitor gone rebel? Bet you didn't see that coming. ;O

So, this may seem confusing right now, but please don't hate me. XD All will be explained as the story progresses. ;D

Tribute spots are still open and if you'd like to submit PM me for a tribute form. Please review and tell me your thoughts on Verse. Where do you think he's headed? Let me know what you think! I'd like to keep updates constant, but thing may be slower until I get all the tributes in. But until then, enter away!

P.S. - Keep in mind, tributes cannot be submitted via review, as it is against FF rules. If I used those tributes, then FF will remove my story. Anyone looking to submit need simply message me for a form. C; Don't be afraid, I don't bite. XD

-Vix.


	3. The Devil Dances Again

Sounds differentiate from the people and things they come from. A voice is not spoken from a box scraping across tile, nor is a thought something anyone can hear. All-in-all, sounds are a dynamic of the speaker.

But what if the speaker cannot speak?

:~:

_Some people speak through actions; others through words. There are even people who claim to speak through the soul. But when it comes to words is it reality or not? It's the unspoken words that simply don't stop._

_Mrs. Heran Harke_

How can one be a teacher when they are so brutally aware that what they are teaching is wrong?

How does someone manage to continuously give away incorrect information to the point where some of what they teach they believe?

They simply pretend it's nothing but a substantial hazard among the others.

For the first few years, I thought it might change. I thought maybe the papers they sent would contain different information; along with the curriculum that circled around it.

But it never did.

It always came in a somewhat simple way. The Capitol would send in a grey envelope, stuffed full of papers and information, and along with it a specialized course I was to teach. The Capitol sent handouts and pencils and basic things a teacher would need.

All they were missing was an honest history book.

* * *

As I sit in my classroom, I gaze out the window, staring into the bleakness of District Twelve. Ever since the fire girl, _the Mockingjay_, as they called her, started the revolution, District Twelve has never been worse. The Capitol sets a cruel reminder that no one is to start up anything ever again.

Even the once rumored dead fence is always brimming with power, surrounded by Peacekeeper's every twenty or so yards. I can see the people blend into the grey oblivion that has settled over the district; a place of desperation and fear.

They say that the place once had life; a cheerful crowd. They say that once people were happy; even in the limited way they could have been.

Never do I see smiles in District Twelve.

I continue to stare, my eyes prodding each and every detail that lies beyond the room I occupy. On the window itself, I can see settled coal dust that must have been there for centuries. The coal here is so settled into any and everything it touches I'm surprised that the people themselves aren't made of the hard stone.

Then outside, through the groggy glass, I can see people walking, wondering, and simply trying to find something to eat. People prod the streets looking for any bits of food they can find; whether it be an old bone or some bread crumbs that happened to fall.

Here, food is food, and everyone is hungry.

After about ten minutes of swarming my thoughts, I hear a bell ring, and I group of children files into my room throughout a period of about five minutes.

Finally, the last girl to enter scuffles in, covered in coal dust and taking a seat towards the back.

I take my cue to stand.

"Good morning everyone, I'm Mrs. Harke." I tell them. Their faces are new; a new school year, and a new class to teach.

Some of them look around awkwardly, not really sure what to do.

I simply nod, and continue back towards my desk, taking a piece of paper to write down all of their names.

"Okay, can I get your names please? Just sign the piece of paper I pass around." I say, handing it to a shaky brunette. Then I see how thin she is; the abnormal way her bones stick out.

It's horrid.

I back up, taking to my desk, and picking up the history books the Capitol has given me.

The very books that hold nothing but lies.

I take another look at them, and then gaze back across the class. Different sets of eyes, from grey to blue, are locked on mine, and I sigh.

I approach the first row and pass out books, dealing them out as I go along each and every desk.

I can't bear asking some of them to stand and get them. Their bones are just too prominent.

"Today we're going to learn some Capitol history; about the Dark Days and the revolution." I tell them, and I see some of them sit up and the word _revolution_.

That's because some believe there's still hope.

They believe that another Mockingjay will be born from the ashes and challenge the Capitol.

But they're wrong. There isn't any more hope.

The Capitol made sure to blow that all to bits.

"Open to page one-eighty-two," I start, "and would someone like to read?" I ask, and I see a brave girl raise her hand slowly.

"Yes, you. Your name?" I ask, and she looks around before mumbling, "Ruela."

"Well Ruela, please, read till' you'd like to stop." I say, and then I look down at my own book, the colors of war and loss splattered across the pages like blood from the actual battlefield. Another tease to us; to show how badly we lost.

But those books aren't true.

We were stronger than that; the Capitol just has a tendency to hide things they don't like.

* * *

Every day it's the same picture.

The same blurred faces, the same smudged windows, same jutting bones, and the same books.

Incorrect books.

I hate that I have to lie. I hate that I know the truth and simply don't tell them it. I hate that I'm a _liar._

But the lying goes both ways.

As I stand before the class, their eyes locked on me, I continue to read.

"When the seventy-fifth Hunger Games came around, things changed, and a girl named Katniss Everdeen thought she could defy the Capitol. She thought that two people should win, and would have killed herself out of ignorance if we hadn't simply saved them both." I say, and my eyes double check what I just read.

Does it really say that?

They tried to change the start to the revolution?

"No." I say, and the class looks up, startled.

"No?" Asks one of my students, her brown hair framing her small face.

"This is incorrect." I say bluntly, and some of the students look down at their books, wondering if I'm right or not.

"What's not correct?" Asks another girl; the girl from the first reading, Ruela.

"The Capitol's version of the past." I say with distaste. I've had enough of this. I can't lie anymore. I won't lie.

I'll simply rebel.

"Pass your books forward, we're not using these anymore." I say, and the students pass them forward slowly, probably wondering what it is I'll teach them instead.

I'll teach them the truth.

* * *

"The Dark Days started because the Capitol was cruel to its Districts, and they decided to step up to it." I tell my students.

Never is one late anymore.

Never does one ignore the lesson.

Never does one turn to look around; because the truth is simply too delicious to turn away from.

"Then, the rebels came together to take down the Capitol forces, and they actually stood a chance. They had power and numbers, though some were loyal to the Capitol still." I continue, and suddenly Ruela raises her hand.

"Why would they stay loyal?" She asks in a distasteful voice.

"Because the Capitol thought that they could bribe and buy their soldiers." I tell her, my eyes wide.

"Then, we lost. The Capitol took out District Thirteen, bombed them to bits and pieces. They stuck all the rest of us under a tight belt, and they thought they had control." I start, retelling what happened to Panem.

"They did remain in power for the first seventy-three years, and that changed once the seventy-fourth came around." I tell my students, and they look over to the picture that hangs on the back of the door.

_Katniss Everdeen._

Her name rolls off my tongue and the students stare at her dark braid, the bow slung over her shoulder, and the gleaming pin of what used to be hope strung to her outfit.

_The Mockingjay._

"When Primrose Everdeen, Katniss Everdeen's little sister was reaped, the Capitol was ruined. Katniss wasn't like a typical District Twelve member, she was smart, she was a huntress, and her male partner played up the most famous angle in history, _the star crossed lovers._" I tell them, and they follow me with their eyes as I pace the room.

"When she got into the Games, she allied with a twelve year old from Eleven, and when she was killed Katniss sparked a unity among districts, igniting a rebellion there." I start, and then I look at Ruela.

"Her name was Rue." I say, and everyone's eyes flicker onto Ruela, whose mouth hangs open.

"She was only twelve?" She asks me in a whisper, and I nod.

"A careerer shot a spear through her stomach." I tell them, and I see the looks of horror across the room.

"After Rue died, the Capitol gave out a rule change, allowed _two_ tributes to win, if they originated from the same district, so Katniss went after Peeta, her male partner. He had been stabbed and the sponsors wanted the two tributes in love to win, so they were sponsored and saved. She nursed him to health and risked her life for him on many occasions. And finally, when they became the final two, the Capitol revoked the rule change." I state blankly; angry myself for the event that happened so long ago. So unfair. So unjust.

So disgusting.

"But Katniss Everdeen didn't stand for that. She took out a handful of poisonous berries and threatened the Capitol; she gave herself half and Peeta the other, and they were going to kill themselves. But just as the berries entered their mouths, the Capitol announced they could win; and the rebellions fire was fueled. People embraced her insanity and relished in it, proud to have something to fight for." I announce, and some look shocked; shocked because their books say nothing of the sort.

"When the quarter quell came around and both her and Peeta were put in it, she blew out the arenas force field and was rescued by rebels along with other victors. The rest were taken by the Capitol, along with Peeta Mellark. Katniss became the face of the rebellion and fought everywhere, breaking into Capitol television and even being shot. But she kept on; and the districts joined her. They fought the Capitol and won, but at great losses." I state clearly, and continue.

"Katniss was assigned to shoot President Snow, and instead she shot the new president, President Coin. Snow died drowning in blood from his laughter, and after her actions Katniss Everdeen committed suicide and swallowed a rebel pill called _Nightlock._ Peeta Mellark attempted to stop her but failed; and then he too committed suicide." I say, and the class gazes out the window and into the streets; the streets that Katniss and Peeta once walked.

"Once the face of the revolution fell, the Capitol rose once again, and with the now dead rebellion they achieved power once more; and reinstated The Hunger Games. Ever since they have continued to make the lives of the districts hell and now there is nothing to even challenge. All our allies are gone; all our supplies; and all our freedom." I say, exasperated.

With that, I take a seat, allowing my students to absorb the truth. The reality of what happened to the world.

The honest, unaffected version.

* * *

Some would say the biggest difference between the Capitol and the districts is the state of the people. They say that the Capitol citizens are better, cleaner, richer, and prettier.

But we have things they don't.

Motive.

Reality.

Work.

Life.

Originality.

I could make an entire list of things if I wanted too.

The next day I come into class, I notice something different.

The window is clean; simply a newly layered level of coal dust from the morning lies on it.

Things are changing.

Through a clear window, I can see clear hope. The clear hatred in the citizens eyes as the Peacekeepers go by. The look of anger at the Panem flag that waves in the city circle; cracking in the wind as it blows.

Whose side am I on?

Do people chose to be rebels, or does it simply fall into their hands to change something?

There is hope. I saw it in the look of the girls eyes the first day.

I keep pretending it's something else.

I'm just like the Capitol.

There's only one difference.

I plan to act on it.

* * *

Hi again!

I updated soon! ;o

As promised to Teddy: this is dedicated to you who motivated me to continue and finish. XD

Okay, so basically, this chapter was to show what happened to Panem. And oh look! Another rebel! :o

Wonder what will happen to her.

Okay, so, I'm still accepting tributes, but I have enough females and a bit too many, so some will be turned away. Only male submissions now please! The only available female space is D2 female, and I'm looking for a careerer. Keep submitting; the list isn't full!

Thanks for everyone who has already sent in a tribute and for those reading.

It means the world to me. :,)

Please review and tell me what you think!

Until next chapter!

-Vix.


	4. The Prospect of Difference

Sometimes it's simple to see what has been changed and what hasn't. Some surfaces simply don't look perfect, and others appear to try to hard. Some smiles are fake, and others are real.

The essential part is knowing how to stay real yourself.

:~:

_Some people change and others do not, while some people wished and other people fought. The rebellion is the cause its fighters part of the games, but the effect is greater though the outcome lies unremained._

_Delray Tarri_

To me, names have become something so blurred I can no longer tell the difference between one person and the next.

Name are what supposedly distinct you from everyone else.

Names are what show that you're different.

But if no one had a name, how would we refer to ourselves?

* * *

The Capitol believes that names are what set us apart; makes us different.

But when you've become so subject to names, seeing the same ones and new ones thrown in, what can you say about being different?

_Different _is the color of you clothes, or your hair, or your eyes.

_Different_ is the way you act and think; no one is the same after all.

_Different _is the way one defends something; the way that someone fights.

_Different _is having the ability to truthfully stand apart from everyone else and think that you're not crazy for doing so.

The Capitol citizens find their names to be different.

The Capitol is wrong.

Every day for the last twenty years if my life, I have sat in a chair and done the same exact thing.

Write reaping names.

I sit before a table covered in slips; scrawling down names in careful handwriting, and making sure even the dumbest of escorts would be able to read and correctly pronounce the names written.

They cheat as well.

Some years, they fill the bowl with only the names of certain people; the people they want to get rid of.

It's no coincidence when they die.

I have never in my life completed a reaping bowl that wasn't rigged in some way or another. But for the first time in existence, _my _existence, I will create a clear bowl; a bowl containing honest votes and slips.

The citizens believe that the tessarea they take is what typically fills the reaping bowl; they believe that it's what fuels the Capitol's fire of tribute names.

They're wrong.

The Capitol simply throws everyone's name in there about thirty times. Every year, they simply add in five slips to someone's name. They use tessarea as a cover; something to shield the actual evil going on.

But for the first time in my life I am spared about four thousand slips.

Each citizen's name is only in the jar once.

Like choosing the rotten apple out of the baskets bunch.

* * *

"Del, how many slips are we coming up on?" Asks the lady of red, the president herself. Every year for the past ten of her term, she comes to check on me. I feel that I am the only one she is patient with. She wants to make sure that all the slips are done correctly, evenly, and to the most perfection a slip of paper can achieve.

"Well, I'm at the sixty-five thousand mark, all that's left now is the other half of Eleven and then Twelve." I tell her, and she nods slowly.

"There's been a change of plans." She says, tapping her silver nails against her pale chin.

"A change?" I ask her, doubt creeping into my voice.

What can I say? The woman can smell hesitation.

"Not bad; simply an unplanned rigging is in order." She says, comforting me. Not really. More like she's sucking up. I'm the only one who can do my job as good as I do, and she knows that.

"Which district?" I ask, and she looks around to make sure that no one is listening.

"Eleven. I want this girl to be reaped; she's been causing a lot of trouble there, rioting and attacking Peacekeepers. Some have started to join her, and I can't have her starting something like Everdeen did." She whispers, sliding me a piece of paper, and I nod understandingly.

I look down at the paper and read the name _Aendra Grantley_.

I sit back up, and realize that Revlon is gone. Gone with the wind; or better yet, with the promise of a clean game.

But she's not the only one who knows how to play dirty.

* * *

The girls name rings through my head throughout the day.

_Aendra Grantley._

_Aendra Grantley._

_Aendra Grantley._

Who is Aendra Grantley; and better yet, what had she started?

Is she a new Everdeen?

Is there a new hope?

Is there a new face?

If there was, all chances are out, because this girl has been sentenced to die.

I wonder if she will actually be killed by us, or simply by weakness and lack of will to live.

I'm guessing the first choice.

How does someone stay safe from the evil that supposedly never happens? The Capitol tells the Districts that we are great and holy, something of godliness and joy.

And then we set up bloody arenas and let the children out to play.

As I sit at the table, completing the girls slips for Eleven, I can't help but wonder about this girl.

What has she done that is so bad? Attacking a Peacekeeper happens constantly, but what has she done that is so bad the Capitol finds it necessary to kill her off in front of the entire nation; showing her horrifying death as a stop to something that is destined to be started?

It's simply because the Capitol hides its fear and transmits it into power.

Power and control is what runs this nation; not the people and its prospects.

Something I've always wondered if where we would be without the Districts. If we are so much better than them, then why must we take from them?

Or are the Districts simply the shaky bottom to our bridge of necessities?

* * *

Why won't her name leave my head?

It's something completely new.

I never remember names; ever.

I simply check a paper, copy down, and paste.

I'm like a life computer, see, copy, paste; and once another one comes the old one is forgotten.

But not this one.

The girls name continues to ring through my head, picking and prodding at my mind.

I wonder if she's young, if she's still somewhat innocent.

But I won't know until her name is drawn from the bowl; and Peacekeepers force her to the stage.

What does one do to have something escape their mind?

Do they simply leave it be, or do they distract themselves?

I'll simply use distractions.

It's all the Capitol does anyways.

"Del, are they all ready?" Asks the Head Game Monitor, Fodeen Verse, as his green eyes bore into mine.

I stand back and take a look at all the sparkling glass bowls, filled with the names that ensure future blood to be spilled.

I nod quickly, and with the flick of his hand I see twenty-four men flood the room, each one taking a bowl and leaving the room.

Verse continues to look at me, and asks me something no one ever has.

"Did you rig this?"

I stare back, shocked, but I don't deny it. I simply look away, giving him all the answer he needs.

I see his fist clench into balls and then relax again.

"Revlon's orders." I quip, and I see his eyes widen in hatred.

The red spot has simply ruined his fun, a splotch on what he must have envisioned to be the perfect arena.

But the look in his eyes tells me he plans to wipe that splotch right off.

_Aendra Grantley._

I hear her name again and one thought comes to mind, one I can't distract myself from.

_Rebel_.

The scary part is that I'm starting to see others who must be just like her.

* * *

A/N:

Hi hi!

Okay, sorry for the small update, but I only have an hour to type, previous engagements every Wednesday, sorry! XD

But oh well, I could have NOT updated, ya know.

But nah, I like you guys more than that. ;D

Still accepting, I need D2 careerers!

See the open spots on my profile. C;

Thanks for reading, and as always, please review!

Your reviews literately make my day.

I'm always so happy to read them. C:

UNTIL NEXT TIME READERS.

-Vix.


	5. Running from the Inevitable

_To tamper with the kingdom is to play with the balances on not only them but the power you hold over yourself._

Some people fight for what's right, while other simply do it for self preservation. Some people tend to root for the underdog, while in reality it's the biggest contender who typically wins. But what if someone is simply undefined; applying to neither category?

Who do you root for now?

:~:

_Some people are players, while others are pawns, then there's the king, who retreats to his castle once it hits dawn. The king they call a warrior, really hides behind doors, while it's the real fighters who roam and protect his castles many floors. But once someone steps out of place, the king doesn't agree, but the king isn't a man, the king is a she._

_Aendra Grantley, District Eleven._

"Valerie, get down." I whisper quickly to the scrawny fourteen year old, her dark brown hair swinging down in a visible curtain. I motion for her to tuck it behind her ear, to avoid even the littlest detail being seen by a Peacekeeper, Surprise is key, and if he notices even the slightest thing, he could alert the others or pull out his weapon. We all lie in wait in the orchards that are supposedly empty, seeing they no longer bear fruit.

_We, _consisting of me and four others; my typical raid team.

I clutch the tree I'm hanging from, wrapping my thin legs around the trunk carefully, as to not let it sway. It's not particularly windy today, so the man would probably notice something. At the sight of his black and white uniform, my mind is flooded with the evil images of the men who punished me.

The men who beat me down and then raped me.

I was only fifteen. They raped a fifteen year old girl.

They stole my innocence; they stole what I had managed anyways. Innocence has many definitions, it simply varies based on how you interpret it.

But no one can know that. That's only for my personal vendetta.

I slowly start my crawl down the tree, swinging from branch to branch as the others eyes follow me, waiting for my cue, and as I nod at Jehan, my co-leader, he motions for Valerie to come behind me, helping her carefully slide onto the branches I used.

Blending in is key, people don't look at the same thing forever, so it's important to maintain a changing image. I pull a branch of leaves to cover my face, seeing my shoulder length cornrow braids are known to any Peacekeeper around the district.

Finally, the moment of surprise has come, as I see that everyone has fallen into place. Now, it's up to me to carry out our mission, and to make sure that this specific Peacekeeper doesn't get back to his base. Instead, someone else will be taking his place.

Jehan.

We want to know about some shipments coming in, and this Peacekeeper we think can get us the things we need to know. But obviously, since he won't do it, we'll be doing it ourselves.

We're not the type of people to accept things handed over on a silver platter.

I can feel the tree start to sway with the new weight on it, yet each of us masterfully finds a way to blend in among the branches of green and yellow. Out skin may be dark, and they may judge us for it, but our skin is an advantage. We can use it in ways that other people can't.

We can use it to an advantage, and the pale people can't.

I shimmy my way down the crisp trunk, wincing a bit when it scratches my skin. Finally, once my threat hangs above the Peacekeeper's head, I close and eyes and let myself fall.

For a moment, I can feel wind; blowing back my braids and opening my eyes. And then, within an instant, the sensation is gone, and I'm toppling the Peacekeeper to the ground.

Once he realizes what's happening, he attempts to fight back, but to no avail.

Before he can lift his fist he's surrounded by Jehan, Tariel, and the others. Jehan kicks his legs out, causing him to fall to the ground, and in his moment of hesitation I take his gun and throw it way out into the trees. There, he won't be needing that.

Finally, once he's pinned down to the ground, little Valerie slips on in, her presence still undetected, delivering the blow to his head that knocks him unconscious. Once he doesn't move, and we see his chest still rising, we take the call. We have about four hours until he wakes up, and that's great because the Reapings start in two.

Today is the dreaded day among the district, the day that every parent in Panem is haunted by. The day of the choosing of the tributes for The Hunger Games. I hate the Games. I hate the Capitol. I hate Panem in general.

Panem treats us wrong because they feel that's how they hold us down. But it's just a big pile of dominos; and if one topples over, we all fall down. The Capitol knows that, and that's why they pretend it's the exact opposite. But I'm not a puppet, and I won't let them pull my strings. I'll rebel against them all, and if given the chance I would personally take out our president.

_Red Revlon, _as they call her, stole everything from me. My parents originally sparked their own rebellion. They were originally successful, and Revlon didn't like that. She had them whipped and taken for questioning, and long story short, she thought she beat the rebellion out of them.

Notice the word _thought_; that woman really isn't that smart.

She moved my parents way out from the district, as a reminder to others that their actions should not be repeated. But when they became pregnant with me, they were relocated to a small village closer to everything, so I could attend a school. But I find it funny, seeing that rarely ever happens.

I grew up under my parents teachings, not the bogus that the Capitol tries to feed the students around the nation. They taught me how wrong they are. They told me what they could do. And more than anything, I've learned how to make a stand on my own.

I'm a rebel, and there are others along with me.

The Capitol knows about me of course, they're not stupid. I can take one look at my dark skinned body and see all the scars from the lashes and whippings I've been given. They think they can scare me away. They think that their words and beatings will force me to stand down.

They're wrong; and if anything, it makes me stronger.

"Should we start?" Asks Jehan, motioning to the Peacekeeper uniform before us.

"We need to get in and out as soon as possible, so yeah, put it on." I say sarcastically, a smirk spread across my features. If you can call them that. I'm pretty ordinary; a plain face with dark eyes, cornrow braids, and no curves to speak of. The Capitol has left me hungry and typically famished, so my figure is incredibly malnourished.

But I don't care about looks. I care about survival.

"When will he wake up?" Asks Valerie, untucking her dark hair from behind her ears. I know she hates to do so, but it's the only way to remain inconspicuous. I care more for her safety than for her general preference.

"About four hours, give or take. Toss his body into the trees somewhere. This idiot won't know a way out for a while." I say, shaking my head as I do. The people the Capitol designs to enforce laws should be trained more so to be bright instead of brutal.

"How do you know he'll be out that long?" She pries, her shifty eyes indicating she's fearful that he may wake any minute.

"Because they always are. You did good Valerie, calm down, he won't wake up." I say, soothing her. She's somewhat new to this, and I know she's still scared. I know I was somewhat uneasy at first, but now that I'm aware of just how dumb these people are, I'm no longer affected.

With experience comes knowledge.

To bad the Capitol can't figure that.

* * *

_Kibwe Ajamu, District Eleven._

As I adjust the bows on Moe's box braids, I can't help but smile at the brightness in her pale green eyes. It's the day of the Reaping, and it's actually starting in less than an hour. I stand back and look down upon her, taking in the faded, floral white dress that hangs a bit big on her small physiche. For only thirteen, Moe's smaller than most girls her age, standing about two inches shorter than the typical teenager.

I know she's scared, but she tries not to show it.

Today is her second reaping, and my sixth; not to mention my last. After today the threat of being reaped will no longer hang over my head, but the fact still remains that Moe could be, a thought I don't even want to consider.

Though we're not related, I still think of Moe as my sister. I never really consider my biological family to be an actual _family_, seeing my mother ran out on me, and I know not who she is, or where she's located.

But I don't care, I love my new mom. My adoptive mom. Not even, she's simply my mom. The only one I've ever had, and the only one I ever want.

As for my father figure, I can't even remember him. His name was Gorgi, and he died in a field accident when I was only three. So, my dad's best friend adopted me, and I've been with them ever since. To me, I have no other family. They are my family, and I like it that way.

I can see one of the ribbons starting to come loose, so I bend down again, pulling it shut tight, and making a funny face at Moe, who continues to giggle. Her laugh brings me the most joy in the world, and if anything were to happen to her….I don't know what I'd do. Moe is my main joy in life, along with the rest of my family.

After that, I stand, walking outside our somewhat small house, tossing a goodbye behind me as I do. I have to see Chaira and Malik, who act as a Yin and Yang to one another.

I walk down the street, and as I do, I can see a man in a Peacekeeper uniform walk by, but he looks unfamiliar. There's something odd about him, and I don't notice a gun on his belt either. But I'm not one to complain, with no weapon that means he can't hurt anyone, but judging the startled look in his eyes, I don't think he wants to.

The strange man rounds a corner, and I continue on my way. Nothing worth thinking to much on, just an odd man in an odd place.

They're everywhere. Who am I to tamper with that?

* * *

_Aendra Grantley, District Eleven._

"Aendra Grantley." I tell the Peacekeeper, who proceeds to find my name, and with a sadistic smile pricks my finger. I know this Peacekeeper, and he really doesn't like me.

But hey, a girl's got to steal when a girl's got to steal.

I march my way over to the other seventeen year old girls, and I watch as some of them look away in fear and others stare with admiration. I'm not an in-between type of person; You either love me or hate me, case closed.

I look around the circle, and wonder who will be reaped this year. There's always a chance I could be reaped, but I don't see it happening. The Capitol has noticed that those type of things only make our district more mad, and I think they'd prefer to kill me off quietly than instead of in front of a nation, where I could start something big, like the Mockingjay did.

The Mockingjay saved our country, and then opted out when the going got tough. She killed herself and let us all fall. It's her fault the nations like this; and I hate her for it.

Finally, the dreaded moment has come, and our crazed escort steps out onto the stairs of the Justice Building. We don't have a stage any more, something that I see as a personal victory. When I was thirteen, I set fire to it.

Whoops, how accidental.

She bounds out, her incredibly pale skin sticking out like raspberry in a patch of blackberries. Almost everyone here is dark skinned, so it's strange to see people like her.

She wears a deep lilac business suit, and her flat green hair is jutted out in many different angles.

A freak from the freak show itself.

* * *

_Kibwe Ajamu, District Eleven._

Our escort, Tarith Parths, starts out reapings, going into details about how the dark days started, and how we could have prevented them, and then the rebellion, and everything henceforth.

And, and, and.

It seems the only word she knows is and.

Finally, the moment comes for her to draw a name, and I close my eyes, awaiting who's going first this year. She's decided to change it, and heads over to the boys bowl. She makes an attempt to appear mysterious, and lead on the audience, but when she gets none of the attention she's seeking, she drops her shoulders and reaches her hand in, grabbing a slip from deep in the center.

She pulls it out carefully, her long, elegant fingers prying the seal, and with that she walks back over to the podium, spreads out the paper, and in a clear voice announces the name of the unfortunate boy, who is soon to die.

"Kibwe Ajamu!" She chants, and I freeze.

That's my name.

Not some other, starving boy with tessera, that's _my_ name.

I'm the boy.

I'm going to die.

That's what was destined for me? Hasn't the Capitol stolen enough from my life? They took my old family, and now they're going to rip me from this one.

Suddenly my mind is flooded with memories of all of them, laughing and chanting and hugging.

The people around me look my way, and with sad steps I walk out of my aisle, and when I pass by Moe's row, I can see the tears pouring down her small, delicate face.

I can feel my heart break.

The Capitol can reap me, but that doesn't mean that they can make me kill anyone. I'm going to die myself before I kill someone else. I'll play to die. They can dress me up and put me in an Arena, but that doesn't mean that I'll participate. I'll die of on my own, and I won't be a tool for them to twist and turn around their Games.

I finally reach the steps, and I see our escort smile. The wind blows and my dreadlocks are pushed back, and I stand atop the stage emotionlessly. The only hint of anything is the frown on my face, like a child upset about losing a toy.

But no, I've been destined to lose my life instead.

Our escort bounces back up, and then announces, "Now time to pick our honorable girl!" She takes careful steps over to the bowl, and reaches her hand into the fishbowl of options, before finally pulling one out and turning around.

She takes her time opening the slip and reads out in a steady voice, "Aendra Grantley."

* * *

_Aendra Grantley, District Eleven._

_Rigged._

The first thought that flows through my mind as my name is spoken out of the escorts mouth is _rigged_.

My names in there five times. The only girls around here may even have up to forty.

They rigged it. They stuck my name in that bowl and filled every single slip with my name. They aren't fair. They aren't right. They are simply _wrong, _and I'm not going to take that.

They want to kill me. They want to make an image of me. They want to take my body and rip it to shreds for what I've started here. They hate me, and they want me gone.

But I don't see that happening today. As long as they're watching me, I'll give them I show.

I don't push my way through the staring crowd. I don't cry and burst out in tears.

I run.

The girls here spread apart, not wanting to meet my fist, and I bolt out of the crowd and into the open space, preparing to do whatever it takes to escape them. I'll kill them if I have to. Better them than me.

The Peacekeepers are after me though, and I can hear their heavy footfalls as they chase me. Finally, two catch up to me, and in the time it takes to punch one in the face, the other one has grabbed me, watching his partner's now irregular nose bleed out. But no, I won't just give up.

I kick and thrash and scream in the mans ear, sinking my teeth into his flesh and clawing at his exposed skin as he drags me back to the stage.

I continue to fight but to no use, he simply overpowers me, his brute strength easily holding me down. If my whole team could fight, we could have him easily, but we don't though I know I've done some damage. His bloodied hands drip onto his white uniform, the pristine surface now stained and burdened. He has teeth marks all up his skin, some spots turning blue. I hear Tarith shakily conclude our Reaping, as I am dragged into the Justice Building and forced into a waiting room.

The second I hit the floor, my heart breaks and my feelings go numb.

They beat me in their own game. They dragged me down here.

They fought and won.

And now, they're going to kill me for it.

* * *

_Kibwe Ajamu, District Eleven._

The moment the girl ran, my spirits were lifted. She defied their rules and made a break for it, risking everything to try and save her own life. She fought the Peacekeepers and made a break across the nation. They couldn't have cut her out. They had to have shown that.

Just as my thoughts are rushing through my mind, I'm brought back into reality at the sight of my family pouring into the visiting room. Here is where we will say our final goodbyes, and most likely, we will part forever. The thought fills me with dread.

My mother and father stand in the doorway, their sunken eyes saying everything they won't.

They know I'm going to die.

Then, Moe pushes through them, tears flooding her eyes and throat to the point she can't breathe, and her face is red and splotchy.

"You..you..have to win!" She screams, stuttering through her tears. I lean down and pick her up, hugging her closely, and stroking her hair.

How can I convincingly tell her I will, when even I know I won't?

And when I die, what does that say to her?

That I'm a liar?

"I'll try." I muster, not wanting to promise anything to her, anything that will hurt her in the long run.

My parents come up and hug me as well, and for the next five minutes we simply sit there, speaking no words to each other.

Suddenly, the door is pulled open, and a Peacekeeper announces in a rough voice that they have to leave.

Moe clings to me, her small frame shaking from sobs and tears. My parent's eyes widen and say they love me, but Moe refuses to go.

The Peacekeeper has to come, to my horror, and peel her off me, yanking her off and tossing her to my mother and father, who glare at him in hate, their own eyes glazed with tears.

I say I love you as the door shuts, and then I look down sadly.

On the floor lies a button, a button from Moe's dress. I pick it up and put it in my pocket.

A token of what I once had, and never will again.

Button down the hatches, it's all I've got left.

* * *

_Aendra Grantley, District Eleven._

As I sit on the floor, not bothering to stand and move onto the couch, I can see that my world is shriveling beneath my feet, so why stand?

The people and the home I was so used to was to be taken and ripped away from me, so what was left to my life now? I was going to die. That was the straight up truth.

After a few minutes, I can see that their not going to let anyone visit me. Why would they? I disobeyed and ran for it, they probably think the second the door opens I'll make a break for it.

But hey, they're probably right.

One visitor steps in the door, and the sight of his black uniform fills me with disgust. A Peacekeeper.

As he slowly shuts the door, I bare my teeth, until he looks around and shows me his face.

Jehan.

I sigh in relief, and let him hug me, something I haven't allowed in a long time, not since those men abused me.

Jehan used to be my best friend. And now I push him away, because I'm afraid to be hurt once more.

But no one else knows this.

"They won't let anyone visit. The others don't know I'm here, but you know what'd they say." He tells me, swallowing.

He pulls away and holds me in front of him, his fingers easily wrapping around my thin arms.

"You have to win." He says blankly, and I stare back.

"It was rigged." Is all that I say back, and with that his face becomes expressionless.

Everyone here knows that if your name is put in on purpose…you're not going to live.

After a minute, he says, "I have to go." I nod slowly, and he walks out, and before he opens the door, he says, "We'll miss you."

The words alone snap my heart in half. They must know I won't come back. They know I'll die,

Hell, everyone knows it.

But the scary part is that it won't be quick. They're going to make it long and gruesome.

They're going to kill me with hate.

They're going to kill me painfully.

And worst of all….there going to defeat me on live television.

To think that I was powerful.

* * *

_Tarith Parths, District Eleven Escort._

As I stand before the mirror, supposedly prepping myself for the train ride, I can't help but wonder what went through that girls mind. Aendra Grantley ran away from everyone, everything. She took a personal stand, a personal show of defiance.

She rebelled, and everyone in the nation will see it.

Finally, I can see some Peacekeepers round a corner, both tributes for this year in their grasp. Their not bad, fit, lean, and on the older side of the scale.

The tricky part of it all will be having them survive.

As they are led outside, I see the girl bare her teeth at the cameras, which only makes them eat her up more excitedly. The boy has an emotionless expression on his face, one that says he doesn't know what to think.

As they step on board, and the Peacekeepers shut the door behind us, I wonder, _is she another Mockingjay?_

And the even bigger question….

Am I one to support her?

* * *

**A/N:** HiiIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiIIIII

Yeah so I wanted to update and such but I had plans and then I got sick and just yeah

But it's finally here!

I finished phew thanks Tedz for the motivation. ;D

Awe 40 reviews

Wowie wow wow!

You all make my day you really do.

Please keep reviewing! :P

Yeah well I know that the next update _probably _won't be tomorrow, but hopefully sometime this week, no?

Wooooo!

Okay so I'm still accepting, and I am in need of District Twelve tributes!

So please, PM me for a form!:P

Anyways, thanks for reading and tell me what you thought of these tributes!

Review review review!

Love you all! :D

-Vix.


	6. Varying Your Innocence

_Innocence is indifferent depending on the individual._

The border between innocence and being defined guilty varies on not your actions, but the thoughts that put you where you are. You can tell yourself that if you are forced to do something, you remain blameless. But you're wrong.

No one can force you to do anything; fear simply wills you to go along with some things.

:~:

_Red coats and red arms are what trail through a fight, the origin and the history remaining out of sight. The arms follow suit of the dragged head and legs, a body unrecognizable placed to lie in the dirt. _

_Rell Knights, District Five._

The room is pitch black as I scope it, my body glued to the walls as to remain inconspicuous. My ashy blonde hair falls into my eyes as I move, which irritates me, seeing I can't fix it under a mask.

The red mask.

The mask of an assassin.

I can hear the man pacing his room, his footfalls not light or stealthy in the slightest. Mine on the other hand, are barely audible. I stop in front of his door, listening in for secrets he may be aware of. Does he know I'm coming? Probably. Will he do anything?

Of course not.

"I'm telling you, I heard it myself from Lank. There's a supposed rebellion starting, something about District Eleven? I don't know; but what I do know is that someone doesn't want me knowing this. I've angered them, and I think they're going to kill me for it." I can hear him say, though I'm not sure whether he's speaking into a phone or to a person.

I don't hear a response, so I assume he's on the phone. But I don't want to break this call just yet, I want to see what else he has to say. Something about a rebellion? I'm guessing he's been misinformed. Something like a rebellion could never be possible nowadays. The Capitol's much to bent on Hunger Games and enforcing the law for that.

I can hear my master's words echoing through my head, the same words that he first spoke to me when I was dragged into this business three years ago. Now I'm fifteen.

"_Welcome to the group Rell, your decisions are now made by me and only me. You can forget your family and friends because you'll be staying with me from now on and if you dare choose to object, danger will be the only thing coming your way."_

The Master never gave me a name to call him by, so that's always been it.

_Master._

I can still remember that cold day in the streets where my life ended and my nightmare began. I was only twelve, a young boy walking down the empty streets. I can remember hands clamping over my mouth and pulling my arm, dragging me into an alleyway, and before I could even shout a bloody knife was being held to my neck. I had broken down and begged to live. I told them I would do whatever they wanted as long as it meant I would continue living, and little did I know they had done just that.

The man in the mask had proceeded to ask me many questions, such as was I a good hider? Could I stay quiet for long periods of time? I guess my answers suited him, because after that he took me in and stuck me in the apartment in the city. I was forced to stay there, and leaving meant the inevitable alternative, killing someone in cold blood.

The men gave me a mask and taught me to kill. They taught me to fight and to take down anyone who tried to take advantage of and target my weak spots. They made me a warrior, a killer, and now that's all they use me for. Killing people. They stick a knife in my hand and send me out with a name, and by morning the person's dead body has been discovered.

Leave, become armed, kill.

That's the system I live by, and as I kick down the man's door, I feel no empathy towards him. You feel sorry for no one but yourself in this world.

As my knife slides into the mans chest, and his eyes die out quick and easy, I can't help but stare. Blood trickles from the wound, and it all happened so fast that he didn't even have time to scream.

But I do. I kill people.

And that very fact drives my mind crazy.

* * *

_Naya Harpe, District Five._

_Electricity is the flow of electrical power or charge. A phenomena resulting from the presence and flow of electric charge. Associated with stationary or moving electrons and protons. The directional movement of electrons, due to some imbalance of force, is what is known as electricity. _

My eyes continue scanning the pages of the book in my hands, the wonders of electricity flooding into my mind and finding a place. I close my eyes and set the book down, a test of memory to myself.

"Electricity is the flow of electrical power or charge. A phenomena resulting from the presence and flow of electric charge. Associated with stationary or moving electrons and protons. The directional movement of electrons, due to some imbalance of force, is what is known as electricity." I say aloud, and smile at the victory.

I remember everything. I'm like a camera.

As I sit in my room, I glance up, taking in the scene around me. Books lie stranded everywhere, as if they were flooded out and into a sea of bedroom. Pages are left open on some, but for the most part, they are neatly stacked and shelved into space all around me. I read throughout my life. Other girls typically go out with friends, or commit to vulgar actions. But I'm not like that.

In fact, I'm too shy to have what you call a friend.

If you were to ask me about myself, there wouldn't be much to tell. I was born into a family that waited to have kids until they had money, so I have always been well off. Originally, my parents showered me in gifts, but I didn't need them. I liked to learn; so they gave me the gift of knowledge. Books; and lots of them. I grew up mainly staying to myself, the shy girl with a big brain, as most people would think.

After I finish the last few pages on the article on the electrolysis, I stand, walking past my mirror as I go. Because of my memory, I have become very observant, and I tend to notice every little detail. Some girls would focus on their appearance when they pass a mirror, but I tend to notice the pattern and markings on the glass.

Where dark brown hair falls, kept over my shoulder, there I a line in the glass, probably from someone dragging their finger along it. In front of blue-green eyes, there is a smudge of something that I have never been able to identify, but I leave it there all the rest. Red lips are covered by three dirt specks, and a tall, pale, thin body is outshone by the pattern rimming the bright mirror, a pattern of leave being blown in the wind.

"Naya, dear, come try this cake for me?" I hear my mother call, and I step out of my room, heading down the stairs and into the kitchen.

The smells of cinnamon and spices linger in the air, and I'm guessing that my mother has been doing what she usually does when she's not at work for the Mayor; baking.

"Ah, there you are. Taste this cake for me. It's a new recipe." She says, winking at me.

She hands me a plate, and I take a moment to scan the pattern. Little flowers dot the edges, forming a circle ring around the plate. With that, a fork is pressed into my thin fingers and I indulge in a bite of the cake. Delicious.

"It's wonderful Mom." I tell her politely, and she nods.

"Why don't you bring some to the neighbor's house? They have a daughter about your age, I'm sure you'd hit it off." She says, stuffing a forkful into her mouth so she won't have to say anything else.

She didn't want to ask about the cake. She knew it was good. She wants me to be more social, but that's not me.

"No, I think I want it for us." I say with a light smile, and with that my mother doesn't even try hiding it any longer.

"Naya," she starts, letting out an exasperated breathe, "You need to be more social! You can't just stay cooped up in your room all day reading and looking out the window. Just please, try and make at least one friend!" She stares me down, and I stand.

"Fine, I'll go for a walk." I say, and with that I walk out the door and into the breezy air of the district. It's reaping day today, and if not for the dread of children dying, it would be a pretty good day today. The wind is blowing, and the signs of autumn are shown from the yellowing leaves to the scattered orange ones that linger on the ground, being pulled back and forth like waves with the wind. As I walk, people say hello, or nod their heads, and I wave back shyly.

I'm not opposed to people, I just find it better to be reading. More in my comfort zone.

But my mother is intent on turning me into a socialable young lady, so it seems that I will have to do something. I'm seventeen, so that gives me a year until I have to go out on my own. But until then I'm going to read and learn.

If only books could teach me how to stay young.

* * *

_Rell Knights, District Five._

As I walk back into the apartment, I can see the other boys eyes follow me, watching me as I go into the room that we call _the drop off_. That's the room where the Master's give each of us the name and the knife, and where we return it at the end of the day. It's unusual for one of us to be called in there for no reason, so I'm a bit nervous when they call me down.

I'm not a killer on the inside. I guess I'm just scared. If I don't do what they say, they'll kill me, or better yet, my family. They shouldn't get dragged into this, so I do what they tell me to protect them. No one here can know that weakness though. It's like a mask over a mask; even under my murder mask is a mask about myself; one that even I can't uncover.

"Rell, enter." Booms a deep voice, and with that I straighten my back, hold my head high, and enter the room of my Master.

"Yes sir?" I say, orderly and professionally. There's no funny-business here. You simply hear what they want and you do it. I shut the door behind me, as I have been told to do, and turn my attention to him.

I have always wondered who he is under the mask he wears. I know he is white skinned, with dark grey eyes that always bore into mine. That's it. Never have I noticed or heard of any other attribute to him, and the thought makes me cringe mentally.

"Today, I have a very special task for you. Are you ready for it?" He asks me, his stance never shifting, his eyes never blinking.

"Yes sir." I say calmly, and I wait to see who I'm going to have to kill.

"Today you are to volunteer for the Hunger Games." He tells me, and my eyes widen. My mouth goes to object, but I swallow it, thinking better of it. If I don't do what they tell me, they'll kill me, or my family.

My family.

I have to do this for them.

I take a breathe and nod my head, saying yet another _Yes Sir, _and my Master finally blinks. His eyelids have no creases in them, indicating he is still young. There, that's something new about him.

"You are now release Rell. May the odds be ever in your favor." He says, smiling a sinister smile. Does he know something? Or is this simply a way to dispose of me?

Better yet comes the big question here.

How can I survive in the Hunger Games?

And better yet, is it easier to be killed here than there?

* * *

_Naya Harpe, District Five._

"Dear, put on your dress, we're about to leave for the Reapings." Says my mother, her voice humming an old tune known around the district.

I put down the book in my hands, my eyes scanning the crisp **89 **printed at the corner, and then I close it. I have no need for bookmarks. I have my mind.

I go over to my dresser, opening the doors slowly and pulling out a new dress. This year my mother has chosen a soft, evergreen fabric. I notice the stitching goes from left to right, rather than trailing up and down like most I have. The difference brings a small smile to my face, and I strip down from my old clothes before sliding on the sheer fabric. The thin sleeves trail to my elbows, and the dress falls just to my knees. There is nothing really to show off on my body, so it hangs in a simply, elegant fashion.

I then turn to the familiar sound of a turning doorknob, and see my father standing in the frame.

"You look lovely Naya." He says, and I smile.

"Thank you Daddy." I say, and with that I go over to my window.

I love to sit and watch the bustling people go by. It's like a strange way of learning, and this way I can watch each and every one of them pass by me. I can remember each and every face, every outfit, and every expression.

Having a mind like mine is amazing sometimes, but I don't consider myself greater because of it. Anyone can remember faces.

"Naya, next year you turn eighteen, and you're going to have to start making a life for yourself. Don't you want to find a husband, get married, anything?" Says my father, and my shoulders tense.

In complete, utter honestly, I'm not sure what I want to do. Actually, scratch that. I want to sit and read in my room for the rest of my life, but according to my parents, that's not a fitting profession.

Both of my parents want me to go out and be social, and to be with everyone else.

But what if I don't want that myself?

* * *

_Rell Knights, District Five._

I make an effort to blend into the crowd quickly, as not to be noticed by anyone or anything. I don't go to school or anything with these people, so what would they think if I went out and put myself in front of everyone? Though, the thought is somewhat hypocritical, seeing as though that is exactly what I plan on doing.

Volunteering.

I am being forced to volunteer.

I enjoy the feeling of being enveloped into the sea of skinny bodies and hopeless smiles, because it means I'm hidden from everyone. I join into the mob of children waiting to have their fingers pricked, and I smile inwardly at the sight of the children wincing and calling out in pain.

They are weak and naïve. I was taught not to be.

I watch and see each child go through the endless line of people, and I have nothing else to do but stare at them as they walk away holding their fragile fingers. Finally, the line comes up to me, and the Peacekeeper looks at me strangely. I act as though nothing is unusual as he asks my name, and I answer him darkly.

"Rell Knights." I say, my deep voice low among the bustle of the crowds.

He nods, and finds my name somewhere in the middle of his book.

"Hand." He says, motioning towards my arm, and lifting the device that will draw my blood.

I hand it to him over the table, and simply blink when the needle enters my skin. He grabs my finger and presses it to the paper before calling out a muffled, "Next."

I used to be hidden and somewhat innocent.

Now they have me on a record.

But I'm being forced into these things. It's not like I have a choice.

Does that make me guilty or innocent?

* * *

_Naya Harpe, District Five._

The bantering of the surrounding crowds makes me feel claustrophobic, and as I gaze around at the other seventeen year old girls, I can't help but study them.

Most girls have red hair, the shades ranging from bright to dark. Others have dark, like mine, but in many different lengths and styles. It's interesting to record them all down, like a visual memory book to never be forgotten.

After a small period of simply sitting there, the Reapings are called to a start. Our silly escort, Yukon Lank, steps out onto the stage, trailing sparkles and glitter behind him as he goes. He tends to wear things in the shade of yellow, and I personally believe that's because he feels he has a personality as bright as the sun.

I mean, he is quite optimistic after all.

He bounds over to a chair, smiling that creepy white smile and staring down at all the citizens of our District. Once he sits down, our Mayor takes the cue to start the speech on the Treaty of Treason, and so he gets up slowly and makes his way over to the stage, taking his time as he walks.

I get the impression that he is simply trying to put off having to choose two kids names to die, rather than to appear calm and reserved.

His walk says one thing. His shaky eyes and nervous stance say something else.

"Welcome, District Five, to the reaping of the four-hundred and seventy-fifth Hunger Games!" He says, a small smile on his face.

He goes into detail on the Capitol and the Dark Days, but I have already memorized this speech. I close my eyes and take in any new information, when suddenly something catches my attention.

"…and due to her failure, the rebellion was overcome, and the Capitol rises victorious once again." Says the mayor, talking about the Mockingjay I'm guessing. She let our country develop into what it is.

But it's new. They never talk about Katniss anymore. They fear that if we learn about her we could try something like that ourselves.

After he rambles for a bit, he finally calls up Lank, who jumps at his name and dances to the podium.

"Well, well, well ladies and gentlemen! It appears it has come down to the moment where we chose our incredibly lucky male and female tributes!" He says, his voice trilling like bells.

_Lucky, _I think, _Yeah right._

"Let's start off with the formal ladies first, shall we?" He chirps, the sickening smile never leaving his face.

He walks over to the girls bowl, and though until this point I hadn't been worried, I now feel the full impact of the fear. My names in there. Therefore, it's possible to be chosen.

He reaches his hand in, picking one of the top edge, and then races back to the podium to read it out.

"Naya Harpe!" He exclaims, his smile boring into the crowd, and with that I hear people breathe of sighs of relief.

But I don't.

That's my name.

I can instantly feel the tears pricking in my eyes, but I hold them back with as much force as I can. Tributes who cry won't get sponsors; that much is obvious from any Games ever watched.

I raise my head and start to walk forward, my eyes locked on the stage and nothing else. My eyes study the surface of the stage, its crisp wooden frame painted white and even;

a simple deathbed for my already confirmed death.

* * *

_Rell Knights, District Five._

Any moment now, a name will be drawn and it will be up to me to throw my hand into the air and volunteer for whatever unfortunate soul is called.

I see the girl that was chosen, her dark her framing a face she fights to keep even and solemn. For the most part, she is successful. But her strange colored eyes say something otherwise as they stare widely into the crowd.

She's scared; as she should be.

After a moment our escort moves over to the boys bowl, and says something along the lines of _our lucky male tribute._

I'm not quite sure. I'm a bit too nervous to listen.

He finally reaches his hand into the bowl, and I watch closely as the paper is spread and the name is called out.

"Kingsley Parte!" He yells, and I see a thirteen year old boy begin to cry.

Before my mind can catch up to my body, my hand is in the air, and I yell, "I volunteer!"

The entire crowd turns to face me, the boy Kingsley himself staring at me as if I'm crazy. I don't know this boy, and he doesn't know me. What an odd volunteering setup.

Odd here, anyways.

I push my way through the crowd and make my way into the sea of citizens, pushing my arms out to force them to make room. Almost instantly they part and I trail through, taking quick, agile steps up to the stage and taking a spot alongside the girl.

Naya I think her name is?

Lank has a huge smile spread across his face; even bigger than normal. He finally has a splash with his district.

Lucky him.

Lank concludes our Reaping as has us shake hands, and before I know it I'm being pulled away and into the Justice Building.

I'm not bad. I just saved that boys life.

But I only did it because they told me too.

I don't have a choice in my actions anymore; that's the rule.

But what if I don't want to follow those rules?

* * *

_Naya Harpe, District Five._

My body shakes as I sit on the couch in the Justice Building, still in shock at the new come information.

_I've been reaped._

The thought plays over in my mind repeatedly until I can no longer bear it, and small tears streak down my face. Better to get it out before they can see me.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and my mother falls into the room, her arms flailing and immediately wrapping me in an embrace. My father follows suit, though not as tightly.

"How could this even happen?" My mother wails, her typically pale face gone red as berries.

My father's face remains stony, as he takes in the scene.

They must know I won't live; I'm not a killer.

"You have to win." My mother says, and she repeats it over and over, more to herself than to me.

"I'll try." I tell her. I won't leave behind broken promises of _I will._

Suddenly, the door is pulled open, and the Peacekeeper claims that my mothers five minutes are up.

"Liar!" She screams, her voice high pitched and angry.

This only upsets the man, and he drags her out, the only reminder of her visiting the screams that echo out in the hall.

My father stands and comes over to me, before wrapping his arms around me and holding me tight.

"Use your memory. Remember everything and everyone. Win." He tells me, kisses my head, and leaves.

Suddenly, I've been left alone, the empty room showing nothing but my pale skin and false hope.

What's there to memorize now?

* * *

_Rell Knights, District Five._

I receive no visitors, which surprises me. I figured at least Aly would visit me, but it seems even he hasn't. I'm quickly pulled out of my room and out into the real world, a place of cameras and lights.

The lights flash at me and Naya, and I make an effort to bare my teeth and glare at them all. Naya wonders around blankly, staring at things and simply sticking to her thoughts I'm guessing.

Lank rushes us onto the train, and as the doors shut, I can't help but wonder.

_Why did I listen to him?_

The men in the mask hold power over me. But maybe something could have been done.

No.

I simply allow fear to eat away at me, because fear is what pushes us.

Fear is the simple factor. Choice is something we pretend not to have.

* * *

::::::::::::::::::::::::  
**A/N:**

Haiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiii again

Okay so this chapter as promised is dedicated to jakey121 so hi yes I love you. XD

Okay well these two were so fun to write and I'm excited to keep going.

Let me know what you thought of these two!

Review review review!

Okay so yes thanks for reading and I love you all. Mwah.

-Vix.


	7. Rolling Egos

_Capitol Train Ride._

* * *

_To succeed you need to understand the way not only you but others around you work._

Life is biased no matter what anyone tells you. You're born, you live, and you die. You do things, you experience what it is to breathe and explore. We make mistakes and we succeed. But life is about learning.

But what if it's ended before there's something to learn?

:~:

_Life is a competition, fait your only judge. We play games in circuses, our shame sometimes like a deep sludge. We sing, we dance, we laugh, we prance. Life is a battle; victory to breathe. But sometimes it's like a game – and now it's your turn._

**_Opal Harlequin, District Twelve. 14 years old._**

I feel the same dread creeping over my body that did in the moment I was reaped. The panic erupted over my skin, creating a sickening sensation of fear and utter confusion. What does someone like me do if I'm reaped? I'm half of a whole. Part of a set. I'm a conjoined twin – and my being reaped meant her death as well as mine. I'm condemning someone else to death just as I have been given. I am dragging someone down with me.

I have ordered death upon someone who in no way deserved it.

But, in all honesty, how do any of us deserve this? Careerers chose this fait, but what about the rest of us? Aren't we still innocent?

Apparently not – because the Capitol sees fit to punish me for something my elders of long ago did.

As I turn my head, I bump into Ruby's blonde locks, tumbling down her back as she attempts to hold herself together. She's the stronger of us. She's the dominant twin, and she can't stay strong, I don't know what I'll do myself. I'm dependent on her for practically everything. If she weren't here, I would have already caved – begged for an easy death and to end it all safely. But I can't now. She's with me, and now if one of us dies, so does the other.

I feel like my chances in these Games are going to be little to nothing, and I'm confused on how the Capitol plans to present us – as one, or two? We are two, but only one is allowed. I think back to my escort's reaction.

"_Opal Harlequin!" Announces Elf Parsk, our small escort. Her pink hair curls up at the ends, her pointy ears making her look like a fairy. Her icy eyes stare across the crowd, trying to find who she thinks is the "lucky" girl to go into the Games. For a moment, I look too, until I hear the gasp that escapes Ruby's lips. I think again, and realize the name is mine. _

_My name was chosen._

_And so how am I to compete?_

_I panic, and start screaming like a lunatic. That gets the crowds attention, and the Peacekeeper's as well. They come over to me, first grabbing my arm, and then realizing how I am connected to another. They back up slightly, not sure how to handle the situation. _

_Ruby mumbles for me to walk, and so I do, tears escaping my eyes, as she maintains a straight face and forces me to continue up the way. Elf immediately realizes what's going on, and tilts her head in confusion, her hair fanning into her eyes. We walk up the steps, and with no volunteers, it seems we are the ones deemed to go into the Games. But if "we" are two people, how can we possibly compete? That's against the rules of the Games. Only one male and one female are permitted into the Games. But there's really no separating us, so what do we do now? _

_Elf looks at me, and asks, "Are you conjoined?" Ruby nods slowly, swallowing lightly, and Elf's eyes widen is shock. _

"_Can you…separate?" She asks hesitantly, not wanting to offend us. Or maybe she doesn't care. _

"_Obviously not." Ruby says sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the gesture. _

_Elf glances to the Mayor, who glances to her. She's the Capitol citizen here; she should know what to do. _

"_Well then I guess you're going to have to make a choice. Technically, if you cannot separate, then you are one person. So both of you are one of you. Congratulations Opal! You are representing District Twelve in the four-hundred seventy fifth Hunger Games!" She exclaims, and the district claps awkwardly. I look to Ruby, whose face has gone stone hard. I have brought this death upon the both of us. And now, we're both going to die._

"Ruby?" I ask, and she makes a small _hmm_ sound in response; not turning to look at me. I hang my head, and wait for Elf to come bursting through the door with the sounds of praise. She seems to be a bit too optimistic for a Captiol citizen – and I'm not really sure how she can do this year after year. She must know that we're going to die, or me and Ruby are at least. My district partner however, August, I see having a chance. He's on the older side, so he has the benefit along with looks and obvious strength. I see him having an actual shot in these Games, and I think that our Mentors do as well.

This year we've been given two of our current three living victors. The third is almost ninety, so I'm glad we have people who will actually know something about what they're doing.

The one and only Nawl Wayk walks in, his eyes shifty as he observes us. August sits to Ruby's right, and his dark hair looks similar to our other mentors, Vakle Manlo. Vakle's expression is hardened and dark, probably from the pain that the aftermath of the Games has put him through. He won the four-hundred forty seventh games when he was just sixteen, and since then he has gone cold and dark. I hardly see him aside from events like these, and when he speaks his deep tone makes goosebumps rise over my pale skin.

"August, I'll be mentoring you, and Opal, you'll be with Nawl." He booms, and with that he motions for August to follow him out of the cart and into another room.

Already, I've been cast aside by the stronger of the two.

First, Ruby has put me down. And now, the strongest mentor – the one who obviously knows what he's doing, has put me down too.

If no one will even give me a chance in these Games, how am I supposed to even _try _and live? If no one gives me a chance, how can I save Ruby?

I can't.

And the misery that follows the thought is overwhelming.

* * *

**_August Coalfield, District Twelve. 17 years old._**

As I follow my new mentor, Vakle Manlo, I can't help but feel like I've been given a chance. A better chance, now that the strong mentor has chosen _me._

"So, August, I know you've come to the conclusion that I chose you because you have a better shot, and you're right. Now I want to tell you one thing. If you want to live, do not ally with Opal. Anyone else, sure. Allies are great. But Opal, as much as I hate to say it, is going to die. Twins won't last." Says Vakle bluntly, a sad look coming over his face. I look up, shocked at his words, but I know he's right. Truth hurts.

Vakle seems…wounded. He seems to be the type of person who draws on a tough, defined ego even though he is hurting inside. He seems trustworthy, though to what extent I'm not sure.

It's just another one of those things that comes with having a good judge of character.

"Now, August, you have quite a bit going for you right now. You've got looks that the Capitol will love. I know – they always seem to craze over the ones that look like you do. You seem to have some meat on you, I take it you've got some strength. Now, can you use any weapons? Because if you can, I see you having a shot at this." He says deeply, his voice echoing around the sitting room we inhabit.

A servant suddenly appears, offering me some delicacies from a gleaming silver tray. I look at the foods, some tarts and pastries like I would see in the bakery window. I shake my head, and ask if I can simply have a glass of water. The man nods quickly, and shuffles off without a word to fetch what I asked for. Hmm. I wonder why he doesn't speak.

"He's an Avox." Says Vakle, as if he's read my mind.

"A what?" I ask, not having any idea what the term _Avox _means.

"It means he can't speak. He was a traitor of some sort, and so they cut out his tongue so he could never speak again. Then, they make him work as a servant for them, doing whatever you want them too." He says, and my stomach turns. I feel as if I'm taking advantage of this poor man.

I can't imagine the pain that came with removing someone's tongue.

As we sit, I answer Vakle's earlier question.

"Actually, I can use a pickaxe. I worked in the mines." I explain, and he nods slowly, drumming his fingers over the velvet of the chair he sits in.

"Are you any good?" He asks, and I shrug my shoulders.

"Guess so. I mean, I guess I'm alright." I tell him, and he nods once again.

He seems to nod a lot. I take it he isn't much of a talker.

"Well August, I think…you have a shot. But the question is, do you want it?" He asks me, and I'm a bit confused. Do I want it? I obviously want to live.

"Well obviously I want to live. What do you mean do I want it?" I ask sarcastically, and he looks down on me.

"To win you're going to have to kill people in there. You're going to have to fight for your shot at life, cuz' everyone else in there wants it too. You're going to have to become a ruthless killer with the ability to do just that – _kill_. It could be a monster, like a mutt. Or it could be a little twelve year old girl. But point blank, to win, you will become a killer. And in no way will I tell you that you will be the same person when you come out." He says darkly, his words hanging in the air.

I stop in my thoughts and think of what he just said.

I wasn't thinking of the aftermath of victory – just the benefit of living that meant I didn't have to die. But now that he says it…do I actually want to win? Will I actually kill people?

But if I don't…the cycle of the Games still continues.

Either they die or I do.

* * *

**_Beau Tarquin, District One. 18 years old._**

_This will save me._

That's what I keep telling myself as I wonder why I volunteered. I was drunk when it happened; drunk off the alcohol of a homeless man.

My escort sees me swaying around on the train, not fully drunk but not sober enough to pass as normal either. The sound of a glass bottle shattering is the last conscious thing I can remember. The world spins slowly but surely around me, the colors blurring together and the people shifting to the point I think there are at least five of them.

It's silly and naïve yet it is simply another benefit to my drunken world.

When I drink, the memories go away. The people leave me. They stay away and ask me nothing about the things I hate to think about. And best of all, I don't have to pretend everything is okay; because it isn't. Everything is wrong and bad and it always will be because of what I couldn't do.

I couldn't save her as she bled into the streets, her cold body simply still and dead.

I left her.

I left to find help, but I left her. She died while I was gone. She was alone and hurt and scared, and I left her.

I want to kill those men.

Anytime someone touches me where they hurt me, the memories flood back like a broken dam of escaping thoughts and cries, and I simply can't swim well enough to escape them.

The moment someone touches my stomach, I can feel the men who punched me there, leaving splotchy blue bruises across my ribs. When someone tries to hold me down, I can smell the alcohol that lingered in their breathes when they pushed me to the ground. A boy tried that once; while I was still in training. I almost killed the boy after that.

And finally, when someone attempts to get in my head, I can feel the sharp kick they delivered; the one that knocked me out completely. If they hadn't done that, I could have tried to save her. I could have spared her all the pain and evil things they did to her body.

They took advantage of her and I simply lied there; not waking to her probable screams.

Drinking to me is like what my father does with drugs. He is so crazed by the fact my mother is now gone, and he has even lost the ability to care for any of his children. He simply sits in his bed jittery and shoken up; unable to do anything but dwell on the past. I suppose I'm a hypocrite. I use alcohol is substitution for his drugs, and instead of staying in a bed I simply wander around not really remembering what I've done.

Her images still haunt me. The men killed my mother after taking away her innocence among other men.

She was the perfect mother.

Her and my father fell in love at a young age, and spawned to have the greatest family achievable; the epitome of perfection. They first had two children, then me, followed by another pair of siblings. We were a big family, a happy set of parents with five children. We all look like her; yet another reason my father can't even be near us. My father worked as a Peacekeeper and my mother was the ideal housewife. She cooked, she cleaned, and she raised all of us kids.

Yet every fairytale has an ending, and unfortunately for me, it was a horrid one.

In my drunken state, the memories swish back and forth, their clarity blurred like raindrops on a window.

I remember how I used to love to walk with her. So one night, we did just that. We passed a tavern, and a group of men stumbled out, their clothes reeking of vile rum. They shouted at us, and so we quickened our pace. From there, my memories are no longer clear. I can remember the men running up to us, taunting us and following suit in our journey to visit my father on the night of his late shift.

They grabbed her, and they pulled her into the alleyways. But before I could realize, they grabbed me too. They pushed me to the floor and spit in my face, and kicked me in the stomach before making sure to hold me down. I could hear my mother screaming frantically and yelling that she loved me, though at the time I hadn't realized it would be the last time she could say it. Then I grew up, and realized she knew it plain and simple.

The last memory I can conjure is being kicked in the head, and then I have a blank conscience.

But I don't want to continue thinking about it.

I drink to escape it; not relive it all.

* * *

**_Lydia Greening, District Eight. 12 years old._**

Crying has always gotten me exactly what I wanted – if not charm and a cute smile. But for once in my life, I didn't get what I wanted. They pulled my name out of the giant glass bowls, and when they did I sobbed dramatically so another pitiful, sympathetic girl would volunteer for me.

No such thing happened.

They all stared at me, mumbling about my misfortune, but none of them raised their arms in sacrifice for me.

If I were still there in District Eight, I would kill all the girls that looked at me with pity. If they really felt pity – they would have taken my spot like I tried demanding them too. I tried to make them go my way; it works on anything else I want.

My mother pampers me as if I'm her little princess, which I am. When I want anything, she'll give it to me, and same with strangers. I simply charm them into doing what I ask, and if I don't, they turn up dead sooner or later.

Though, I wouldn't think of it as sadistic.

Just kidding, yes I would.

Anytime I want something, I simply put on my "darling little angel" act, my bow-tied pigtails usually selling my act. I appear innocent and fragile, and I use it to the best of my ability. I play off of anyone else, because that's how I can get exactly what I want in life.

It's really too bad my father never knew that. I killed him too – yet another way of gaining pity from strangers. _So sad, her father died. _That's what they all think when they see my sad look if someone brings him up. But really, I was the one to sign his death certificate. He's gone and done for, along with any of the others who don't respect my wishes.

I'm like a princess, and this arena will be my castle.

* * *

**_Miyoung Shirlaire, District Six. 17 years old._**

I'm not meant to be here. I'm a cruel accident and even my father doesn't want me. I'm alone. I had about two friends. I've fucked my life up. I've screwed not only all the blood from my arms, but any man who wanted to have some fun with me.

I like to feel loved. I like the sensation of being wanted. I like the feeling of someone caring for me.

But it never last long – they all leave me in the morning.

"Miyoung, we're going to have dinner now, and then watch the recaps. Come on down to the dining cart." Says my escort, Jula Harce, his shoes clicking down the marble hall as he goes.

Dinner won't be fun. I don't like to eat. If I eat, I'll become fat, and then even the men who provide a fake sense of love won't want me anymore. They want me because I'm pretty, I'm skinny, and I'm cute. I have a lush appearance that makes them all want me, even my escort. When I walked up the stage, his eyes popped as he checked out my face, his eyes trailing down.

Maybe he will love me.

Maybe he will want me.

I'll just have to try and get his attention.

I walk over to the closet of my room, open the doors of the dresser and looking for something alluring to put on. I change my undergarment to something more lacey and find a tight black strapless dress to slip over myself. I still wear the heels my mother made me wear for the reaping, and arrange my auburn hair around my face. I look in one of the many mirrors the Capitol has supplied me with, and see how I appear to the others.

On the outside, I am perky, sexual, alluring, beautiful, and happy. But if you were to look beyond the mirror, and to put it inside me, you would see nothing but misery. I'm sad. I'm scared. I'm depressed. I've done things to myself because I felt the need too.

When I tug the dress up my thighs a bit, I can see the fading scars of past self harm. They wring my leg, hugging them like I am a prize of greatest worth. But if I'm a prize, why does no one want me? I close my eyes to make the thoughts go away, and then open them again. I look to the mirror, pull my dress back over the fading marks, and adjust my best features. My eyelashes are long and luscious, and so with them in my favor I feel somewhat confident in the way I act around others. Just because I was reaped doesn't mean I can't appear strong. When they called my name, I was numbed from morphine. I showed no expression really – so I will use that in my personal favor.

I walk out the door and trail mindlessly down the carts until I reach the dining room door. I straighten my posture, and open the door dramatically, sashaying into the room seductively. I move my hips slowly, and see Jula's eyes widen in his sudden need for me. I see the spot next to him is free, so I walk over carefully and lightly trace my fingers across his back as I take a seat, scooting it closer to him as I pull forward.

I see him smile dumbly, a sparkle of white teeth shining as he does. He's not too much older than me, only about twenty-one years old. He wouldn't have any shame in fooling around with me – especially if I'm willing.

Suddenly, an servant appears, and Jula informs me that the man is an Avox. I simply nod as if I know what it means, and he laughs. The Avox sets a glass before me, filling it with a magenta drink. He pours Jula the same, and he raises his glass in toast with mine. I giggle flirtatiously, and his smile widens as he downs his drink.

I look around the table and see my ally, Grant, and he simply stares back. Oh well. Who knows if I even want to ally with him. By messing with Jula, I'll gain his personal favor, and he may advertise me to the other citizens who may want to sponsor me.

On the other side of the table is our two mentors, Sauth Krayla and Marcies Beenct. Sauth is rather pretty, hair dark hair framing pale green eyes. But her eyes look elsewhere – as if she's not quite sure what she's doing here. Marcies mumbles words to her, and then she looks up at the people sitting around her.

Then, Marcies begins to speak.

"Hello, I'm Marcies, and this is Sauth." He says, motioning to the limp girl beside him.  
"We'll be your escorts this year, so first things first, are you okay working together?" He asks, looking between me and Grant. I shrug my shoulders to indicate I don't mind, but I also do it so that Jula will pay attention to me. My charm works, and I see his hand move to the edge of his seat, nearly touching my back.

Grant simply nods at me, and Marcies takes it as a yes.

"Okay, good. Now, lets get down to dinner before we discuss things. Best to think of a full stomach." He says, a small smile taking over his features.

I look back to Jula, tossing my hair behind my shoulder and exposing my chest and shoulder. He winks at me, and grips my waist with the hand at the edge of his chair. I giggle again, teasing him with my feet and tangling my thin legs with his. This excites him, and his confidence grows. He eats with one hand, holding me in the other, lowering his grip as he does. But it doesn't bother me.  
I'm wanted.

Jula feels a pull and a need for me – even if it is because I'm acting like a sexual object.

I don't care how I get his attention, as long as I have it.

Love it what I need.

That's how I'll win. If they love me, they'll let me live and sponsor me.

When I act like this, who wouldn't want to try and be with me?

* * *

**_Grant Sihlo, District Six. 17 years old._**

Something I don't understand is how the Capitol sees it okay to let a seventeen year old girl fool around with a man nearly four or five years older than her. She's not even out of the reaping – and better yet she's been reaped and is on her way to a death game. What is the point in some sort of fling before an event like that?

All throughout our dinner, our escort, Jula, couldn't keep his hands off of Miyoung, my partner. Don't get me wrong, she flirted and teased him, but still. It's a bit beyond the line, and when I dropped my fork and went to pick it up off the floor I saw he even had her legs trapped between his.

Disgusting.

Hale would shake his head and make a sarcastic joke about Capitol citizens, but Hale isn't hear to make me laugh. Instead, I'm surrounded by idiots and painted people. Capitol citizens make themselves look scary as hell, and even though I'm aware that I should be respectful and treat them like they are the highest in power, I don't. I hate the Capitol. They honestly disgust me. So I'm not really sure if my hate for this man is more because of what he's doing, or because he is in fact Capitol.

I'm glad that Peacekeepers don't show themselves around the train. I hate them with a passion since they abused my mother, punching and hurting her one day out of boredom until she had a miscarriage. I was three months away from another beautiful sibling when they did that, and since then I've hated them completely.

At the sound of the door opening I see the others finally pile into the viewing room, where we will watch the recap of the reapings. Jula takes at seat near the edge, on a seat big enough for two, but Miyoung simply ignores that. She takes a careful seat on his lap, and his smile grows by the second as he crosses his hands over her lap and holds her there. She giggles and turns, moving her hair in front of her so he can see her exposed back.

I don't know why exactly she wants his attention, though I'm guessing she's hoping for sponsors or something. Marcies, our mentor, glances at them in disgust and I can't help but be glad I'm not the only one to see something wrong with this picture. An Avox servant turns on the TV, and with that the reaping reviews start.

First we see District One, where as usual a beautiful blonde girl volunteers. This one is a bit on the thinner side, with no muscles really to speak of. I wonder why she didn't wait a little longer to go into these Games. The boy's name I remember – Beau, because on his way to the stage he gives the crowd this huge, sarcastic smile as he announces his name to everyone below. District Two then shows, the scenery changing and even a car passing in the background. I can't help but think back to home, where Hale and I worked together on our fathers cars. I already miss them all. Hale is like my other half – exactly what a best friend should be. I turn back to the screen and notice I've missed the girl, but Jula mumbles to Miyoung that it's strange that there wasn't a volunteer. The districts go by but only a few actually stick out to me. In District Four, the last careerer district, a girl with golen ringlets volunteers and the boy volunteers as well, though he is younger than the typical careerer by the looks of him. Five has a volunteer, which shocks me, and the girl looks naïve and innocent.

Finally, I see myself and Miyoung on the screen. I get reaped first, a stony look taking over my features and staying as I walk up the stage. I remained pretty stable – so I hope sponsors take me seriously. Miyoung goes up, straight faced with a dazed expression. Something makes me think she was high or something. Or something is seriously wrong with her.

My mind goes back to Tris, who cried and cried when she came to visit me. The though depresses me, so instead of thinking of my sister I focus on the competition again. District Eight's girl is only twelve, and starts sobbing, hoping someone will volunteer for her. But of course, none do, and she seems to be angry and take it personally that they don't. She looks a bit spoilt, and I make a note not to speak to her. Another little girl follows suit from Nine, and a rather tall boy who looms over her.

Eleven is the most shocking yet. When the girl is called, you see no movement from the crowd. Then, we see a dark skinned girl take off, and a peacekeeper gets her with ease. But the images look fake. It looks like it actually took a lot longer to get that girl, and they simply edited the footage. It's like she did something that they don't want us to see, and now I want to know what it is. I'm going to meet this girl, and I see a possible alliance here. Her eyes scream rebellious, someone I need to work with. The boy is older, and has a sad look as he trails up the stairs.

Finally, District Twelve is shown, and the girl shocks me as well. She's a conjoined twin – connected to another body. They tell her if they can't separate, they are technically one person, and so they send them both together. The boy looks fierce, with obvious muscle and a hard look to him. I see him as a threat.

Once they're over, the TV is shut off, and Sauth actually speaks.

"I think you have a shot Grant." She says, staring straight at me.

In the corner of my eyes, I see Miyoung freeze.

I look and nod, and Marcies' eyes meet mine. He nods, and so do I.

These people know what they're doing, and they say I have a shot.

I could win.

I could live.

All I have to do now is live out the expectation.

* * *

A/N:

Hello my perfect darling angels who read what I write!

I hope you liked this chapter. Basically, I've set it up where I only showed those two reapings, the first and the last of the day. Now were on the train and on our way to the Capitol! Yay!

So, please review, and answer these? :3

Who do you like the most so far?

Do you want a lot of Capitol scenes?

Alright my lovelies, thanks for reading, and sorry this took so long to write. I've been busy and distracted and having some health issues so excuse me. XD

I'm on break now so I expect a lot more chapters this week. :3

Jakey121 yes this was for you because you motivated me. XD

Okay, good day you all.

Hope you liked this chapter! ;D

Love,

-Vix.


	8. Stolen Envisionment

_Extraction._

* * *

_The things that scare you most are the things you force to stay hidden._

Fear is something dominant in any and every human being. We are run on fear. It drives you to do things and to not do others. We judge and we guess because not only is fear definite but it is unpredictable. Fear is unexplainable and fear is something locked inside insecurities within yourself. But overall, fear in determined by the subject.

But what if the subject thinks they have no fear?

:~:

_Fear is a challenge, control its mighty game. From snakes to bears to tigers waiting to be tamed. Fear depends on the person – winning the goal. But in fear; there is no prize but bitter coal. _

**_Cameron Paige, District Ten. 15 years old._**

Being here makes me wonder if Mother is actually watching over Farah and Robin. Due to her escalated affairs over the years, I'm pretty used to having to take care of them, so it's strange being here and having nothing of the sort to do. Now I've got to take care of myself – if I plan on living that is.

When they called my name in the reaping, I wasn't really sure what to do.

"_And this years lucky female tribute is…Cameron Paige!" Announces our escort, Maldei Pawx. It takes me a minute, but once I realize whose name it is, my name, I feel the mingled feeling of fear shock. Everyone stares at me; and I hate it. I want to run. I want to scream. I want to lift my feet and take off towards the fields – blending in with the cattle so they can't find me. _

You have to go up Cameron, _I think to myself. I force my feet forward, taking up the cobblestone walk that will lead me to a stage – which in turn will deliver my inevitable death. I put on a serene, yet surprised expression, and walk up the rickety pathway. The crowds stare lingers which makes it even worse, and as I climb the steps my foot slips a little, though I catch myself before anyone can notice. Clumsiness is already affecting me. I can't imagine how it will work for me in the Games. _

_The stress already weighs down my shoulders as if a barrel of hay is being balanced on them, and my small frame can hardly hold it._

_It's crushing and groundbreaking at the same time – but one thought remains clear to me._

_I'm probably going to die._

"Cameron, can you follow me please?" Says my mentor for this year – the one and only Aldine Haye. She's actually pretty tall, and stands about 5'7". She a few inches taller than I am, so her shadow hangs over me when she speaks.

I nod slowly, not really being one to socialize. I don't like these people. They've sentenced me to death and stuck me in a perfect city, just to rip it all away from me when they're done dressing me up and showing me off to the world. They'll stick me into an arena where they plan on killing me slowly and painfully and I find it absolutely disgusting.

The way Aldine smiles at me kindly makes me trust her even less. When I was friends with those girls that were nothing but awful to me, they smiled like that. They would talk about me and then smile and pretend they adored me once I showed up. I know what that smile is. It's a fake smile. I bet Aldine has talked about me too. I bet she thinks I have no shot, and is only acting nice because that's what they make her do.

I don't want to be allies with anyone here. I don't trust people. And even if I did, I fear them leaving me. I don't want them to be like my father – who abandoned me and my siblings because of my mother's mistakes. He left us with a woman who has no thoughts in mind aside from her own well-being, and every other week a new man is in our house trying to have a fling with my mother. I don't want to be left again and so by extension I don't want any allies.

As we walk down the pale hall of the enormous train carts, I'm led between lots of other rooms and luxuries. Some rooms plush couches and fine table, while others hold foods and delicious delicacies. They tell us we'll be in the Capitol within about twenty minutes, so I'm nervous to arrive. The crowds there will be bigger than ever – people screaming my name and demanding my presence. I'm being led off to an area where we will be escorted out by Peacekeepers, so that none of the citizens can touch us or harm us. To them we are prized jewels in a masterpiece collection, but then they realize we're actually just normal people and toss us into an arena of forgotten treasures. They'll treat us like actual humane people while in their glorious city, and then they'll set us out to turn into savages upon one another.

Charming, isn't it?

I have a lot of thoughts in my mind, and it drives me mad that they're there. I want to write in my journal, my usual way of getting out the thoughts that bother me, but I just don't have time for that right now. Especially not in front of all these people.

Aldine motions for me to sit down in a seat, and so I do, and then she begins talking in her unusually soft voice.

"Well Cameron, since this years twist involves something a little different, the chariot rides won't be until tonight. First, they've got to go through the extraction process, though I'm not quite sure what that is just yet. They can't tell us because it's classified information, but all I know is once we arrive you will immediately be taken into a lab for the process to go through. They've assured me it won't hurt – so don't worry too much." She says, smiling a small smile when she's done.

Extraction?

What is that?

I think back to the twist, they told us that the twist meant the arena would be made up of things that scare you; that's what Mother had said. So they'll be stealing my fears?

But fear isn't real…it's just in your head. How can they even create something of the sort?

I try not to think too much, like she said.

Besides, I overwhelm myself with these kinds of thoughts.

* * *

**_Amorette "Amor" Loire, District One. 18 years old. _**

"Well Amor, they've told me this won't hurt at all, so I hope you're ready to go through the process!" Says my mentor, my own mother, Bliss Loire. The woman who has pressured me into volunteering. The woman who has forced me into training. The woman whose overall expectation for me is _winning._

I'm somewhat uneasy about my volunteering if I'm being completely honest. The only reason I'm here is because I finally caved to my mother's constant pushing. She, being a past victor, expects nothing less from me. I'm not too upset, because if I win, I'll have great fortunes, and my life will be so much easier to live on my own. But the only problem I have against myself is I don't know if I can actually see myself winning. I don't know if I can see myself in a final showdown killing someone before they kill me. I'm confident in my abilities, because I know they're good.

But what if they're just not good enough?

"Come along Amor, you're first. Set the example. Show them all how easy it is for you, make them feel beneath you." Says my mother, a somewhat cruel smile spreading over her features.

I don't particularly like mother. I would never tell her this of course, because that would be mean. I hate upsetting people – yet another reason I was against volunteering for these Games. I hate upsetting people, and I don't like the feeling of not being able to help someone. I don't know if I'll like killing these people. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'll have a guilty conscience about it. But it's too late to go back now, so there's nothing I can do about it.

I feel like mother is simply using me to relive her own Games. She doesn't seem to consider the fact I could die in there. I don't know whether or not it's because she thinks I'm strong enough in fact to win, or because she simply doesn't care and just wants her shot at having a mother/daughter victory. It's not really fair of her to treat me like that, but I'm still nice to her and keep up that smile she loves.

Her heels click along the marble floor of the Capitol building, Peacekeepers on either side of us. They lead us down a hallway, and to a flight of stairs, where we are taken down into the deeper levels below the city. They Peacekeeper compliments my hair, and I thank him, flirtatiously twirling it around my skinny little fingers.

Appearances are wonderful – if you're pretty that is. If you're not pretty, people won't like you. If you don't have good looks, no one will love you. I'm very fortunate to have my looks, because I pity those who have no looks to speak of.

I hope my allies aren't ugly.

Ugly people are usually grouchy.

I look to my finger, which holds my token ring. It was my mothers, and the Mayor gave it too her once she emerged from the Games victorious. It's a small, silver ring, with a large diamond in the center. Our surname, _Loire, _is encrusted into the design in an elegant style. Mother says that as long as I have the entire District on my side, there's no way that I can lose.

But what I don't understand is how a ring will save me.

After all…she says winning the Games takes skill.

A ring is simply an expensive object.

Finally, we've reached out destination. Before us is a large, grey door, and by the looks of it – highly secure. The Capitol doesn't fool around with these type of things, When they want something secure, it stays secure. Period.

They tell my mother she can't enter the room, which annoys her, but she agrees. She leaves, as if she's stranded from me, and the Peacekeepers open the door, motioning me in. They don't follow, they simply shut the door.

For a moment, the room is pitch black, and I shift uneasily. But soon enough the lights flash on, revealing a bright white room filled with nothing but sleek walls, a silver door, and a chair with a bunch of different setups. There's a mirror on the other side, and I notice cameras everywhere. I look to the mirror and see that my hair is blonde, curly, and perky as usual. No wonder the Peacekeeper complimented it.

Suddenly, the door is opened, and a strange looking woman walks in. The only things normal about her is the pale pink lab coat she wears over blue skin, her pale green hair pulled back into a tight bun. She holds a clipboard and some wires, and smile a perfect white smile at me when I turn.

"Hello Amorette, or do you prefer something else?" She asks, her voice bright and cheery.

"Amorette is fine, or Amor. It doesn't matter to me." I say politely. Why don't people think Capitol citizens are cruel? They're actually pretty nice. Just listen to them.

"Alright Amor, today we will be doing a fear extraction operation. I'm here to let you know everything that's going to be happening to you, so don't worry about a thing." She says, and her next smile flashes a pair of dimples. I nod slowly, blinking my hazel eyes as I do.

"Alrighty then, can I have you sit down in this chair?" She asks, motioning towards the only seat in the blank room. I nod, walk over, and take a seat. It's comfortable, with a plush velvet covering and a smooth texture. I feel completely at ease.

"Now, Amor, I'm going to be attaching some wires to you, and you're going to need to wear this over your head. Alright?" She says, though I don't know why she says it like a question. They're going to do this to me anyways, so why bother with it?

She steps over to me, attaching strangely colored wires and other things to my arms, my legs, my shoulders, and my neck. I don't know exactly what these will do, but hey, the Capitol must know it all.

Finally, she tells me to close my eyes, and that I won't be able to hear her anymore once I put on the headset. She says the other doctors will speak to me through it, and that she will be leaving the room. She says she'll squeeze my hand before she goes to let me know that the operation will soon start, and not to worry because it won't hurt.

I nod, and with that the headset is slid over my eyes and I'm trapped in a vision of darkness and inaudibility.

I don't like it in here. It's stuffy and it's bothersome, and I can feel my own cool breathe fading back onto my face. I try breathing through my nose, but that doesn't really work out because the noise is irritating. I sigh, and with that I feel the squeeze on my hand and I feel a slight shift in the chair that must mean the door has been shut.

Before I can form another thought, a new voice is speaking to me.

"Hello Amor, welcome to the extraction. Now, we're going to be performing some test on you, and we're going to be monitoring your behavior and reactions to different things. Now, just to let you know-" The man says, but I interrupt him.

"Wait, what types of test are these?" I ask, and the man simply says, "Please don't interrupt. I'm not permitted to answer your question, I'm simply here to tell you what's going on." I nod from the helmet, assuming they can see me, and the man continues.

"Now, the first test we're going to do involves your arms. Can you lift them up and down for me?" He asks, and I obey.

"Alright, now, we're going to be trying some different things involving your arms. Can you place them on the arms of your chair please" He says politely, and I nod again, setting them down easily. Suddenly, they are clamped down, and I widen my eyes in surprise.

"It's alright; we just need to make sure they stay in the same position for this whole test to go correctly." He says, reassuring me.

"Alright Amor. We're going to start the first test now, and I'm not going to be speaking anymore. You may hear other things, and we are going to test things with you're arms. Alright?" He says, and I mumble an easy _alright._

I hear the voice click off and for a minute I'm in complete silence. I sit for a few more moments until I start to feel something along my arm. It's not really painful, it's just annoying. But, the feeling progresses, and suddenly I feel like blades are being raked down my skin. I cry out, and immediately, it stops.

_They're don't mean to hurt you Amor, they said it wouldn't hurt. _I think to myself, thinking back to what they had told me.

Now, I feel the sensation of someone touching me. I'm almost sure there is no one here with me, so it's a strange, strange feeling to have. The gesture is light, almost ghostly, and I squirm a little in the seat. I don't like not knowing what is happening to me. It makes me feel vulnerable to anything they have against me.

A few more things go on, though now none of them are strange or bothersome. Simple things, like blowing wind and a burning feeling. But it's not real. They won't hurt me. To them, I'm something beautiful. They think I'm pretty, and so they'll want me ever longer. They won't kill someone attractive. Here, looks are everything.

Now who wants to kill someone as pretty as me?

* * *

**_Finnegan Hemlock, District Seven. 16 years old._**

The right way to go in life is to stick to the right side. Who even needs the left? I've lived without my left eyes vision since I was seven; I'm a living example that you don't really need it.

I prefer things right-side up, and I like things better when you can have a good time. It's better to be happy and composed, so I don't really get why people would want to be so sinister and cold. Life is so much easier when we all get along and just act like genuinely nice people. But nope, guess people from Careerer districts see fit to go on killing sprees and kill people like it's a jolly good time.

Am I the only individual who sees how seriously screwed up that is?

People these days can be idiots, I know I didn't volunteer for this hell. I don't know why anyone would want to. Because it's _so _fun to go through hell and back and kill people do you don't have to die yourself? I'm sixteen, you don't see me with a deathwish.

I'm young, but I'm not stupid.

Right now, I feel confined. I sit in a chair in a pale white room where the people tell me their going to extract information from me. Whatever the hell that means. I just want to get out of here, because honestly, if everyone's else breathe has been coming back in their face like it has with mine, I can't imagine what kind of sickness lingers in this helmet. Kind of disgusting if you really think about it.

The fog on the glass reminds me on the cloud over my left eye, seeing I can't see out of it. Penny always blames herself, because she was the one to hit the oil tin and make it hit my face. But nah, it's okay. I'm well adjusted to it, so it doesn't bother me in the least.

Thinking back to Penny makes my face fall, because the thought of her makes me think of my other two siblings. From a family with four kids, and no dad, it wasn't always the easiest life. We were better of then most for a while, but once my dad died in his line of work, things changed a bit.

No life is perfect – but I live with mine. There's nothing about it really that wouldn't make me want to live it. Things are good. The past is the past, and so I don't really linger on things like my dad and my eye. There's always tomorrow, where I can see Penny, and Nellie. One thing that does bother me however, is that Nellie's father doesn't like me because I partly blind. He's judgmental about it, and being a Peacekeeper thinks his daughter could do better than that.

It's a shame how people judge nowadays.

Suddenly, a voice is back in my headset, and then woman speaks to me with ease.

"Alright Finnegan, we're going to do a vision test now. We're going to be showing you some images through a monitor in your headset, so are you ready?

"Sure." I say, and look forward. I hadn't noticed there was a screen in here. The Capitol really is ingenious.

Before anything else comes to mind I see a picture flash up on the screen. It looks like home, with trees scattered all around. The picture floats around the tops, a place where I am constantly climbing. Being a Lumberjack gives me a bit of an advantage in these Games, seeing how I can climb and the physical strength.

But now, the image pans down below, where a young girl is clinging to the lower branches for dear life. Mutts swarm beneath her, mutated spider like objects chomping away at the base of the tree. My breathing deepens. I'm terrified of spiders – and mutts aren't very good either. My eyes widen as one finally gets a good bite out of the bark, and the tree starts to sway. The girl screams as it falls, pinning her beneath. The spiders take the opportunity to get her, sinking their teeth into her flesh as she screams and blood leaks into the cold ground. Her eyes bulge out, and suddenly the once sparkling brown hue dies into a dull black. Her eyes roll back as the spiders continue to eat excess pieces of her, and then they start to cocoon her in their silk. They practically mummify her entire body, wrapping her skin until more blood pools from her wounds, dyeing the white silk a pale red.

I can't watch. The moment I see the spiders tug the fabric they've made I squeeze my eyes shut, falling into the safety that darkness offers me. It's not much better, but in the dark I don't have to witness this. Even from one eye it's horrible, and so I can't imagine how someone watching with two must feel.

The girl was so innocent looking, only about thirteen or fourteen.

They killed her.

They let her blood leak out of her like a spill from ones drink carelessly left to stain a tablecloth.

They did nothing to save her.

I wonder if that's what they'll do to me.

* * *

**_Ayvah Lyntn, District Nine. 13 years old. _**

The things they show me scare me.

From the images of falling from buildings to the pitch black with eerie noises they play, the images are scary. There's no point in trying to act strong or tough here – the Capitol won't share this and no one else can see me. So, in the freeness of where I am, I cry.

These things terrify me. They show me death and heights and darkness and painted people and mutts and it's just too much. I hate it. I miss Maeve. I want to go home.

That must be every reaped kids wish; to go home. I don't know why anyone would ever want to be here, even Careerers. What joy is there is killing innocent people? Even me? Already the girl from Two has taunted me and teased me to the point I cried waiting in line. That gave her quite a laugh, her wicked smile haunting me and her cruel eyes just begging to kill me.

No, I don't understand anything about these people.

I've done nothing. I don't understand why these people hate me so much. Maybe it's because of my age – the fact I am so young, so underdeveloped, and so naïve. I hate that I don't measure up to anything in their eyes. It makes me want to cry even more.

I'm not worthless.

Maeve loves me.

I think back to the little girl, the innocent beauty that it was my job to protect. Now, she's going to have to fend for herself, she's going to have to hide from Mother and Step-father on her own.

Step-father always loved her more, but I don't mind. Even though technically Maeve is only half related to me, I love her as if she is completely my sister. She's only half, but that doesn't bother me. I love her all the same.

I miss Maeve.

I wonder if she misses me.

I wonder if I'm affecting these headpieces with my tears, and I'm pretty sure the nice Capitol lady isn't to happy with me for getting my tears all over this probably expensive piece of technology.

She keeps telling me to not cry, but I can't help it. I have to cry. These things are so sad and upsetting. Why would anyone want to watch this? People confuse me.

Again and again the lady tells me not to cry.

But she doesn't get it – I have to.

I just want to leave.

I want to go home.

* * *

**_Invidia Rayerra, District Two. 16 years old._**

_6 years old._The images they show me don't affect me in the least, and more so, are somewhat laughable. Stupidity goes a long way for some people, as they love showing me on these hologram headsets. At least, that's what I assume they are.

If Avaritia would see the pitiful, yet humorous, images they've decided to show me, I'm positive that he would shake his head is superb annoyance and shame for those poor souls who have no idea what the hell they're doing.

Now, the image changes, and I see yet another what the Capitol finds to be, _dramatic, _death scene. I don't remember these Games, and to be honest, they look quite old. It makes me wonder how old some of the footage is, because you can notice the difference between the quality of some shots and the direct clarity shown in others.

Now, on the screen, we see a young, dark skinned girl trapped in a net of some sort. She's quite young, by the looks of it only twelve. She screams out to a girl, and repeatedly the name _Katniss _is yelled across the arena.

_Stupid girl, _I think, _you're only drawing attention to yourself. _And of course, I'm right. Soon enough, a girl comes into view, drawing a bow and having her dark hair swish back and forth behind her like the ticking of a clock. The countdown of their final moments. The girl sounds somewhat familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on it. She sounds like someone we've heard of in school, but due to my lack of going there I can't quite tell you.

I have no need to waste my time in school. I have training with Superbia and Avaritia. There are much better things and ways to use my time than sit in a classroom with idiots. Besides, Alv, (my mother whose caregiver name I don't bother to use any longer,) thinks I do. It's not like she'll treat me any different if I do go. She still favors Lancartia, and she always will.

At the thought of her name, I bite my tongue and try to envision myself strangling her. Or maybe, slitting her throat in some awful, painful way. I hate her. She has simply sat back her entire life and relished in my mother's obvious love and appreciation for her, and even now she thinks that she will take Avaritia too.

That's not happening. He has even told me so.

I'm snapped back into the images shown when a cannon goes off, and I notice that the small girl has a spear through her stomach. I yawn, bored, and the images change.

Finally, I see something interesting on the screen. It's the four-hundred and seventy-second Games, the Games that my darling Avaritia himself won. I can remember those Games easily. They were recorded as the shortest Games ever, and Avaritia most certainly demonstrated an ability to kill and conquer.

Even in the bloodbath, he took out the Careerer leader and put himself in that position, and over a period of a day and a half he backstabbbed everyone in the pack – some literately. He then went out and hunted the others down, toying with them as if they were nothing and simply taking out his guilty pleasure on their poor, weak souls. He emerged victorious; though no one doubted he would.

Now they show me one of his kills, one of the worst actually. I bet their trying to intimidate me with these images, see how I react to gore and blood. Really, it doesn't bother me in the least bit. Some of the images bore me, while others are somewhat entertaining. I love watching and seeing the dumbstruck look upon the tributes faces who have been set up with their ultimate doom. It's simply delicious.

Here, I see the oh-so-familiar scene where Avaritia will kill off the young male from six, a boy who actually offered a challenge. They battle it out, and I yawn, awaiting the ending I know I'll see. Avaritia will overpower the boy, cut him up, and spit on his remains. But here, the images don't go that way.

As I watch, I see things go dark and devious – the Games themselves changing as if it's a film, and a different scene has been inserted. Here, I see the boy from Six's ally, jump out from behind Avaritia, and I see him slowly creeping his way behind him as the boy from Six is taunted and teased. I grip the seat slightly.

Why am I panicking? Avaritia is waiting for me in the hall right outside this room.

_It's not real, _I think to myself, watching the fake footage before me.

Before I can take a breathe, I can see the boy's ally finally attack Avaritia, and send his dagger through his side. Av falls, and I gasp. It looks so real. I couldn't handle to lose Av – not now. Not after all we've been through. I scream as they continue to torture him slowly, painfully. It's not funny anymore. Not to me at least. At the sound of my cry, the image is gone. Like magic.

Now sitting in the dark, there's nothing for me to laugh about.

* * *

**_Mason Fletcher, District Four. 16 years old._**

The lady has told me that it's time for the final part of the test, and I can feel the wires attached to my stomach tingling, giving off a strange sensation. Suddenly, the lady is in my ear again, going on in her tinkling, annoying Capitolian voice. She speaks to me as if I'm a dumbfound child; one who has no vocabulary and no ounce of intelligence. Truth be told, I'm smart. Very smart. In face, I'm smarter than most in my district, and I find it pathetic when idiots there can't understand words like _miraculous _and _distraught. _

To them, language consists of _fish, swim, eat, train, Games. _Five simple words is what makes up over half of the District Four language, and if you think just because I'm from the fishing district I must be a surfer and talk all, _Awesome dude! _You're wrong.

I proud myself in being a citizen who amounts to intelligence and smarts, unlike most other pathetic people there.

Some of the things Priscilla has gotten angry about are stupid. She gets mad because I beat down any man who tries to get near her, but she doesn't understand I'm doing it to protect her. It's all to protect her. Everything up until the present has been done by me for her sake.

I only volunteered for her sake too.

My father went from a man high in ranks and riches to a drunkard who waisted our fortunes in multiple ways of self harm. He told me to volunteer. I'm his prize. I'm expected to go and earn back our fortunes – to gain back our money by killing and becoming a monster. I've trained of course, but I'm only sixteen. But he told me if I didn't he would sell Priscilla to a Capitol man, and the thought alone disgust me.

I won't let anyone hurt Priscilla. She's my sister and without a mother in our lives I'm the only one who can protect her. With beauty like hers, it would be easy to sell her, just as father said. I can't lose anyone in my life. I won't let them hurt any of the people I care about ever again.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

* * *

**_Head Game Moniter Fodeen Verse. _**

From behind the glass, I can see every last thing that goes on in the tributes minds. Our technology monitors what they think, what they hide, and more than anything, what they _fear._

Lately, I've been feeling conflicted with myself. To open up, they would probably call me a madman, but I don't care what they think of me. I want to have control in these Games – and control I shall have.

I recently agreed to be a rebel. But something the rebels don't know is that I have no intentions in stopping my Games. I'll happily help to take out that awful thing they call the president, but my Arena is my masterpiece and no one shall put an end to it's glorious rein.

I've spent years developing the creation I take pride in calling mine. From the dark laughter to the undeniable evil that lies within its confines, my arena is bound to be something never before seen and never to again be accomplished. I am different and so is my arena. I'm better than them. I will conquer. I will suceed.

Something inside of me keeps telling me I'm crazy. Someone, or something. But I don't care what they think of me.

My power and my plotted demises are unstoppable.

There's no mistaking that I will soon rule.

* * *

**A/N: **Hello wonders of the reading world!

Yeah well here we go with the extraction process. Mwahahaha.

Okay, so, for those of you who didn't quite understand, let me clear things up.

The extraction process is the way that the Capitol is stealing fears from within in the tributes minds, later to used in ways you shall see. ;D

Also! Please review. If you're reviewing I know you're reading, and your tribute is less likely to be killed early on. If you don't review, you probably aren't reading, so I won't feel bad killing off your tribute. So please, review!

Hope you liked this chapter, and I'm not sure when the Chariot Rides will be up, but I'll try to get it done as soon as possible.

Thanks!

Love,

-Vix.


	9. RIng Around the City Circle

_Chariot Rides._

* * *

_Taste is viewed within the eyes of the viewer._

Colors represent different things within different peoples eyes. For some, red is the color of love. Pure appreciation, thoughtful, overall _love. _But for others, it is opposite. For some, red is the color of blood. A color that stains through your skin and leaves you with death on your hands. Because as we all know, with blood comes death. However, it is truly always up to the viewer to decide an opinion.

But what if the opinion of the viewer is not that of their own?

:~:

_Colors mean different things, especially in war. Grey designates the ashes, while colored flags signal the war. Black is for smoke, while yellow means light, but in the end colors don't matter, it's all simply based on how well you fight._

_**Radical Sephera, District Three. 17 years old.**_

Zero always told me I wasn't really one for emotions; and he's right. Ever since my accident, I couldn't remember anything really, aside from my brother of course. But no worries about me for him. I ran away. I adapted to my own lifestyle. I gave myself a new name. I started a new life for myself.

I am no longer the boy known as Bradley North.

As I wait for my stylist, an awfully awkward woman named Chice, I watch a rerun of last years Games on the TV. I love watching them. They can be both pitiful and inspiring, but it really depends on the tributes and the Arena. Right now, the District One female, Calico Granite, is going head-to-head in the final showdown with the boy from Four, Harytl Brine. I watch with intense focus as Harytl attacks the girl, using a basic yet undetected strategy. He plays her footwork to his advantage, stepping in certain spots so that she is forced to move her feet just where he wants them. Finally, when she is in the position he wants, he puts his foot behind hers, pulling it forward and forcing her to the ground. He steps on her wrists, breaking them with a shattering _crack, _and we hear her scream out in horrid pain.

For some the scenes would be disgusting and unwatchable, but not for me. They can die for all I care. I don't feel much negative emotion since the accident, and in fact, I can't even remember what the accident was or anything before it. The only thing I can remember is my brother, and I have nothing to do with him. I work on my own – somewhat. There's Zero too.

The thought of his name makes my stomach turn, and I think back to where we said our goodbyes.

_As I sit on the pale velvet couch, wires twisting off an end table and off a chandelier, I can't help but focus on all the little details of the room. I wonder how it will feel once I load something sharp like that into my bow, shooting into the hearts of my enemies._

_Suddenly, the door burst open, and Zero dashes into the room, his blonde curls falling into pale blue eyes._

_Zero, my assistant. He helps me with all my work and business; all the trading and selling I do with the Capitol. He organizes my deliveries and helps me bring in the money. I only really gave him the job because he wouldn't leave me alone. But he's a good helped. A nice guy to have around. Not to mention – he cooks well._

"_Radical! Why did you volunteer!" He says, panic in his voice._

"_Because, Zero, Ginette was after me. She almost got me today. Besides, I think I've got what it takes. I can shoot a bow and arrow, and have no problem killing. Calm down. You can live without me for a while." I say, and recall the earlier events of the day._

_Ginette had been chasing me, and her guards nearly got me today. If not for signing in at the reaping, they _would _have gotten me. Ginette chases me because I steal plans and information from her. It pisses her off that I sell it to the Capitol for my own fortune, but I don't give a damn what she thinks. As long as her guards don't get me, I'm fine._

"_But you don't get it!" Says Zero, his eyes shifty. Get it? Get what?_

"_What don't I get Zero. Please inform me." I say, rolling my eyes sarcastically. He looks away for a moment, looking at the floor, and before I know it he's closing the space between us and kisses me. _

_The thoughts that run through my head are enough to distract me, and I don't push him away as I think. But finally, I'm back to my senses, and as I go to push him off of me he leaves before I can lift my hands._

"_I…I like you Radical. I don't want you to die." He says, his eyes wide as he looks straight at me._

_I'm stunned. Zero? Likes _me? _It's mainly weird because nothing in my mind is saying that it's wrong and that I don't like him, so I'm somewhat confused about it all._

_Finally, a Peacekeeper opens the door, demanding Zero to leave. He gives me one last small, sad smile, and says, "Good Luck." Then, he's ushered out and I'm left to deal with my own thoughts. Hmm. Who would have thought that Zero was gay. But the better question…who would have thought I might be? _

I snapped back into the real world by chirping sounds, which indicates that my prep team has entered the room.

"Radical, ah! I just cannot _wait _to get you all dressed up for tonight!" Says one of the ladies, standing about two feet over me in her freaky shoes. She squeals with joy, and it makes my ears hurt.

"Could you just talk like a normal human being for a while? Thanks. I'm sure we'd all appreciate it." I tell her bluntly, and she looks down in shock. Her eyes water, and she flees the room, gaining me dirty looks from the other prep members.

"What was that for? You're the odd one, not us." Snaps another lady, as she runs out to fetch Baum, the woman who I believe I just made cry.

Oh well, she doesn't bother me.

The man looks to me and holds in a chuckle, and I crack a smile. Someone sees how ridiculous they're being.

"I'm Naul, I'm sane. Don't worry. Now, lets get started, shall we?" He says, sitting me into the chair slowly.

Finally, someone knows what they're doing. They're not crazy.

At least not yet, anyways.

* * *

_**Silas Howell, District Two. 18 years old.**_

Being here makes me wonder how Juno and Calyx, my parents, are reacting to my decision to become a victor – a future volunteer. The thought of them going insane, being considered hypocrites among the district, makes me smile. They never cared much for me and Lyra, my younger sister, and I'll tell you just why.

My parents are both "creative thinkers," in a way. They believed that a higher power was watching them, evaluating them, and evidently controlling their lives. Their entire relationship was based around this religion of theirs, which was mainly set up as a set of beliefs. Interestingly enough, the two did not get on very well when they were not preaching or poking holes in other logic. And actually, they cared for their cause more than each other or their children. They would often do things that they thought would appease their God, in the hopes that they could live fulfilling lives and that their children would not be reaped. In fact, contrary to common District Two's beliefs, they thought volunteering to murder was wrong and it was always evident in how the victor turned out. A person shouldn't kill, nor choose to kill, as it devalues a person. They would often remark on how trainees would be "damned" and wanted Lyra and I to have no part in it.

So of course, I did it _just _to get back at them. Because of their "beliefs," our family has always been looked down upon. Lyra has been pushed down stairs and people treated me differently because of my dumbass parents so-called "religion." So I started training. I took advantage of the one thing my parents couldn't stand; using it against them completely. They shoved their beliefs down people's throats and now their child was a volunteer in the Games. Ironic, is it not?

I promised Lyra I would train, volunteer, and win. I told her that I would save her from the hell of a life my parents cause her, and take her to live with me in the Victors Village. I'm going to save her – it's a little rebellion of my own.

"Silas, hon, come back for a second. I need to adjust your outfit." Says my stylist, a strangely normal woman, with seemingly natural brown hair and icy blue eyes. The clothes she wears are a soft lilac, but nothing to extreme.

I walk back towards her, looking at anything but her as I do, feeling slightly awkward being alone with her with nothing to say. But that's alright. Once I win, they will all be here with me; except those that I kill that is.

I haven't really looked at my outfit, but now that I'm here before a mirror I take the time to look at the miracle that my prep team has created. I'm dressed in all black, aside from little red details all along my body. The jumpsuit I wear is black with red cuffs and spots everywhere, with black combat boots covering my ankles. My token ring from Lyra adorns my finger, and the thought of her makes me smile.  
"Now, Silas, onto the, _interesting, _part of your costume." Says my stylist, winking to me as she pressed onto one of the spots on my outfit. Suddenly, it jumps to life, and a faint red smoke starts to pour out of all the holes. Lights flash from different buttons, and my stylist turns off the lights so that I can see how I will appear in the dark.

The blackness is complete for a moment, until the lights and smoke start again. The flashes only illuminate me for seconds at a time, highlighting my broad, muscular figure and obviously designed to shock the audience with the recurring lightshow. The red smoke offers up a dangerous, bloody haze in which surrounds me, closing off to anyone who attempts to break within my boundaries. The costume is both scary and mysterious – something the audience will want to see more of.

I smile. No, my stylist isn't stupid at all.

* * *

_**Arianne Joule, District Three. 15 years old.**_

_What's the reason for this? _I think to myself, mulling over my own thoughts and considering the different reasons that I have been put into this position. I believe that everything in life has a purpose, and so does being reaped. I'm only fifteen, and I'm not here to hurt people. There is nothing I can think of that I have done wrong to deserve a fait like this, but apparently, I have. I just haven't quite discovered it yet.

I would say the greatest part about the Capitol is the beauty, the colors, and the art. Since I have been raised in a home where I was typically alone, my parents working, you become accustomed to finding ways of entertainment and small hobbies. And for me? I love to draw, I love to paint, I love to _create. _You could call me a wild child I suppose. My parents say one thing, but if I don't like it, I won't do it.

You can call it arrogance – I call it the same thing.

As I look around at the items in my styling room, I can't help but wonder how they create it all. I'm lucky to invent something that fascinates me for more than an hour, but these people, they've created their own utopia and established themselves into it. It's unflawed. It's beautiful. It's wondrous. But the little perfection they have going on is mainly on the inside, but once you open the doors leading to the rest of the world you see how broken and masked out world really is.

The Capitol is playing within its own personal masquerade, and the districts are simply there to assist them in this part.

Finally, a man comes into the doors, trailing three similar looking people who I know as my prep team. They told me they are here to make me look my best and to perfect any flaws on me, and I supposed that's alright. If I'm being offered the blessing of perfection in my looks, then who am I to deny that? It's all happening for some reason; for some cause.

They help me stand and rid me of the thin paper robe they had given me earlier. I now stand nude before them, and they observe me like I'm their own piece of artwork. Clay to soon be molded.

"Alrighty, Kali, I want you to get her washed, Quill, get her waxed, and Klais, come work on her nail beds and hair. There's lots of work to be done people, let's go!" Announces my head stylist, and with that he sashays out of the room like a true diva. I giggle at his exaggerated walk, and then one of the ladies looks to me.

She's about half a foot away from me, but her scaly pink eyelashes still brush against my cheeks and flutter with ever blink she takes. I see bits of glitter fall to the floor each time, and I slowly lean away from her. A bit to close for my forte.

"Now, Arianne, I'm going to get you washed, so please, follow me!" She says lightly, her soft voice buzzing through my skull. I would have assumed her to sound chirpy, loud, and obnoxious; like most citizens here. But no, she sounds relatively normal, in comparison with her altered looks that is.

I follow her around a corner and into a room with a giant bathtub and shower arrangement, and she motions me to lie down in the water. I slowly dip my toe in, and find it to be perfectly warm, so I slide in with ease.

Then the pain starts.

Jets blast me from all angles, living my skin rugged and tight. Kali pours mixtures and concoctions over my skin and into the water, and they burn and scratch. I try to resist, telling her I'm in pain, but she simply responds with a light, "Then it must be working!"

By the time I think she's done, the water is suddenly not pleasant any longer, and the second she tells me I can get out I jump up as fast as possible.

But she's not down, and motions me over to a table once again. She uses brushes and sponges this time, tearing of layers of my skin and leaving me with a raw, aching feeling throughout my body.

Finally, she announces that her part is done, and it's time for me to be waxed. I don't know what waxing is, but by the time the fabric is being ripped off my legs, I'm well aware.

"Ouch!" I yell out, tears brimming in my eyes as the man continues to rip piece after piece off of my arms and legs. This is a pain like none I've ever felt before. How do the Capitolites do this on a weekly basis? Once this man has finished, he rubs yet another serum of some sort over my burning skin. While it burns on first touch. It immediately soothes the pain, and I breathe out in sweet relief.

Finally, the last part has come, and my nails are filed and cleaned, along with my hair. This part isn't bad, and it rather feels relaxing and peaceful. I lie my head back and close my eyes as the lady massages my scalp, and when she's done, I crave the feeling once again.

It feels like its been a meer half an hour, but apparently its been more than two. My stylist, March, burst into the room again, somewhat angry.

"We're running out of time! We still have to get her dressed and get her hair done, come on people lets go, go, _go!_" He stresses, and I'm immediately rushed out into another room containing clothes and other things of the like.

So far my visit has been eventful. Lots of things happen here, and while I hate the Games, the Capitol life isn't too bad. It's almost bittersweet. Bad things are happening, yes, but just look at the creations and the intelligence invested here. It's amazing.

But just because it's bittersweet doesn't really mean that it's more good than bad, and in fact, I believe it to be the opposite.

The bitter will always come before the sweet.

* * *

_**Kyle Montoya, District Ten. 15 years old.**_

The area in which we sit, awaiting the Chariot Rides to start, is very bright, and the look is all that manages to keep me smiling at the moment. On the inside? I feel dread. Pure, complete, and utter _dread._ I'm fifteen. I'm not cut out for a life winning the Games, especially with Careerers running around the place and people who are twice my size. I'm strong from working with the animals, but I can't kill. I can't use a sword. I'm just an average person, and I sure as hell wasn't made to be put into a death game.

The main thing on my mind this entire time has been Sunny, my beautiful, baby sister. She is the light in my world, and with her gone, it has all turned black. I'm scared, and I don't have the will to do anything anymore. All I can do now is learn all I can before the Games.

Tomorrow will be training, an even bigger fear of mine. I'm going to have to find an ally. After all, I can't really make it on my own. I'm strong and I'm smart, but that's about all I have going for me. I have minimal looks, but compared to the girls that came here? No ones eyes will scan over me for even a second. Besides, Careerers have always been raised to be beautiful, and this was proven once again when the District One girl arrived onscreen. Long blonde locks, gorgeous figure, the whole nine yards. Who would look at me when there's people here just about perfect?

I look around the stables, and one by one the tributes start to pour out and into the chariot areas. It's quiet, and most of the people stay by their partners or stick to their chariots. I look to my left and see a small, twelve year old girl having trouble getting onto her chariot, and suddenly my heart sinks. Could I kill someone like that? No.

I slowly step down from my seat, going over to the girl.

"Do you need some help, miss?" I ask her gently, smiling lightly so she knows I'm being genuine. She stares back for a moment, before looking down and nodding, and I push her up to the steps and she climbs them with ease from there. I smile lightly at her, and tip the brim of the cowboy hat that has been placed on me for my costume. They're advertising us as lasso-swinging cowboys and cowgirls. I think it's stupid. It doesn't really have anything to do with livestock.

"Thank you…" She mumbles to me, her dark curls falling into her small face. "What's ya' name, miss?" I ask her, and she slowly says "Ayvah." I nod, and hold out my hand.

"I'm Kyle. Nice to meet you." I say, and I beam. Not all tributes are mean and bad, so I want to show her that I can be good. I can be nice. It's not all about being vicious or bloodthirsty.

Suddenly, I think to myself, _I want her as an ally. _She's young, sure, but I can't stand to see her face this cruel game on her own. She reminds me of Sunny with her shy manners and little physique. I'll be the one to take in a little girl, and maybe I can find another ally to come with us.

"What do you say we form an alliance little lady?" I ask quietly, looking at the floor and making sure no one is listening. She looks at me, and slowly reaches her hand up, her small fingers lifted the edge of my hat.

"Lets do it." She says, and a smile begins to spread across her features.

Finally. Someone realizes that there's goodness here. We're not all monsters.

Now all I have to do is keep her safe throughout the Games.

And when you think about it?

It's not as easy as it sounds.

* * *

_**Alacris Prie, District Four. 18 years old.**_

Something about the way he sways and the way that his eyes look lost, as if elsewhere, causes me to assume that he may be drunk. His dark eyes bore into mine, and I can't help but wonder why he won't look somewhere else. Maybe he is drunk, or maybe he's just excited. But something else about the way a scowl stays planted across his features leads me to think that's not the case.

I'm a Careerer. Though, I never really planned on it. It's like an adventure to me. It's something that will test my abilities – show me if I'm good enough to survive something of the likes. Not to mention the money is a benefit, seeing I won't have much when my parents go. I guess it was my impulsive attitude that propelled me to the stage that day. But now that I'm here? I'm here to explore. To live. To take the adventure of being in the top ranks of the Games themselves. Why come here? Why not. It's just a big test. It's a test of agility and smarts – two things which I for one have.

"What are you wearing?" Asks the male from One. I believe his name's Beau, the one whose eyes have been locked on mine for the past ten minutes.

"Did you finally decide to speak?" I snap back, and he smirks at me.

"Oh honey, were you going to give me a chance?" He says, and cocks his head to the side, laughing to himself and relishing in the taunts he has planned for me. I roll my eyes, and he asks, "Something interesting up there?"

I jerk my head towards him, and say, "Nothing but your swelling ego."

He knots his eyebrows at me for a moment, and then laughs again.

"I like you, Four, I have a feeling were going to get along." He says, and a smile slowly spreads out over my face. He just has this aura that seems to trail around him, something of confidence and wit. I have a feeling he may end up being our leader, but that's not fully my decision to make.

Suddenly we're joined by his district partner, and mine, and upon seeing this, the district Two male trails over to us as well. The female for his district is gone, and I'm not quite sure where she's at. I suppose he's read my thoughts, because then he says, "She won't ally with, I'm pretty sure. I tried to speak to her on the way here, and she's just her own little army I guess. She doesn't want any allies. Oh? And she told me to deliver this message. " He says, and then flips us all off.

"Isn't she charming?" He says sarcastically, and I shrug."

"Alright, that's her loss. Now onto us. Are we going to be the Careerers this year?" I say, looking at everyone in the circle around me and expecting an answer.

"Well Honey, I'm with you, and as a bonus? I'm sticking that name on to you. You're welcome." Beau remarks, and then laughs at his own humor once again. The scowl is now gone, and it seems that a smirk has taken permanent residence there.

My district partner, Mason, nods, and puts his hand in the middle of us.

"I'm in, I'm not stupid." He says, and with that we all seem to put our hands in. It's our first show of unity, and I hope the others are watching. I hope that the District Two girl is watching too. I want her to see the adventure that she's missing. The adoring tale soon to be discovered.

It's all one big discovery after all.

Good thing I'm an explorer.

* * *

_**Cire "Vincent" Ellsworth, District Eight. 17 years old.**_

I like to think of life as a _What goes around, comes around _type of situation. Call it karma or call it lucky. I like to think of it as renewal of the past. And my past? It's dark, but that's not important right now. My goal is to help protect Leno, like he helped to protect me. My main focus above anything else really to be able to save him. I know he doesn't remember me anymore, and that's okay. It's my fault he can't remember anymore, and I've come to accept that.

"Cire, it's time, we've got to get you into the chariot." Says my stylist, maintaining his serious expression the whole time.

He's a rather focused man, awaiting every move I make before telling me what to do, and what not to.

I hop into my chariot and stare out across at my district partner, the sight of her make me uneasy and angry. I have a hate for females after what they've put me through in life. If I'm not attempting to seduce them, they have no value to me aside from sitting dead. This girl's only twelve, and while I should feel bad that she's been reaped, I don't. She cried like a baby at our reaping, and that was enough to put her under my intense dislike list.

But hey, I'm a volunteer, so that shouldn't matter right?

But I'm not the only ones. This year is a bit awkward volunteer wise, seeing how they came from the typical Careerers once again, (excluding the District Two female,) and districts Three, Five, me from Eight. It's unusual, but I guess the lack of tributes in the Capitol is now a pastime.

Lydia flashes me what I guess she thinks is a cute, toothy smile. Trying to be friendly. But it's all an act. I'm good at reading emotions, and this girl sets my nerves on edge. She's nothing like she says she is. She's acted oh-so-sweet this entire time, but if you look through her eyes, you can see through her lies. She's been staring into mine a lot lately, as if she's trying to decipher what it is I've got hidden behind them. But she'll never know. Know one will. That's my business, and the only person that will be aware of my intentions is myself.

Suddenly. I feel slightly warmer, and realize that my costume has been activated. Since I come from the textile and fabric district, my stylist decided I would be his canvas, and has dressed me in a full body suit that blossoms with colors and dyes throughout the entire ride. All Capitol favorites off course.

"It's time! Hold on, and smile!" Announces my prep team, and I wink at one of them, attempting to win her over with my charms. She serves no other purpose for me.

_I'll make it up to you Leno. _I think to myself, and as the doors to all the chariots open, I close my eyes, awaiting my next challenge in this game of deadly games.

* * *

_**Siren Lukasiak, District Seven. 13 years old.**_

"Good luck!" Call out my stylist, telling me to frown.

Now, you may find it odd that she would tell me to frown, but she's smart, and she's caught on to what I do. I have tourette syndrome – and it causes me to do the exact opposite of what I'm told. My stylist realized the moment I continued to disobey just about everything she instructed me to do – and so I'm glad that she is smart enough to tell me to do just the _opposite _of what it is she wants.

With a tug forward, I start to feel myself being pulled by the chariot, and I realize it's time. Before I can even put a disobedient smile on my face, the chariot has taken off and I'm amidst the chaos referred to as a Capitol audience.

The roar of people begin to chant _"District Seven!" _As our chariot rolls by, doing the same for each district as they pass. The lights are blinding, and the colors everywhere cause my eyes to hurt. I want to look away – so of course, I no longer can.

I smile as brightly as I can, and disobey once again by waving. I do all the thing she told me not to – just as she knew I would.

I look around at all the tributes – checking out their costumes and what they do to try and impress the audience.

Up ahead of me I see the District Six pair. The girls has long, tousled red hair that she keeps behind her. Her outfit is rather skimpy – obviously designed to show off her body and gain male sponsors. The boy however is more modest, and he seems to look like some sort of racecar driver. I've seen them on TV a few times, but never up close. He wears a helmet with the glasses up and a tight leather suit, covered in Capitol logos and stickers. It's typical to see here.

District One catches my attention, mainly because the girl is just so pretty. I stop and stare at her when she's on the TV, because she honestly is a classic beauty. Her stylist obviously had no trouble in playing that angle up for her. She wears a dress made of jewels – like a queen of her own castle. In every light that hits her she gleams and twinkles as if she's an actual star, and her blonde curls on the dark gems make it even more attractive. Her partner wears similar clothes, but it's obvious that everything is riding on her.

She waves and laughs and catches flowers, blowing kisses to the audience with every other call of her name. I decide to imitate her.

Finnegan gives me an odd look as I wave and suddenly become alive for the audience, and he soon joins me. Before I know it people are chanting, but it's not my name they yell.

"Finnegan!" They scream, and I see him widening his eyes and smiling even bigger.

They don't even notice me – it's not fair.

They finally ask me to flip my hair, and with that, I can't.

If I can't listen to what anyone's telling me, how can I possibly win?

I can't – because they told me too.

* * *

_**Garner Reed, District Nine. 16 years old.**_

Laughing at these people is so wonderful, because they have no idea just how idiotic they look to everyone else.

As my chariot soars through the square, I can't contain the laughter that escapes me. If they could hear me – I'd have a thousand and one insults to spill out at them. But they can't just yet, so I'm going to have to wait.

Being nice doesn't work. I would know, because I've tried every trick in the book. Throughout my life I've learned it's simply easier to take it than to give it – and that's exactly what I tend to do.

I intimidate people because I can. It's both entertaining and productive, and in the end, it benefits the person whom it should; me.

Why focus on other people? All that matters is that yourself is taken care of, and you don't need anyone to stand in your way. Take what you want and threaten those who try and stop you.

You have to become the bully to not become the victim, and that's just what I do.

I look over at Ayvah, who honestly disgusts me. She's so whiny about everything and even teasing her is no longer fun because I get a headache listening to her cry about it.

She definitely fragile – why bother wasting my time with her?

My goal for training is to find a new subject, and so I can simply bother them instead.

Who needs allies unless they'll do what I ask?

The stopping of my chariot brings me back to my senses, and I drop my waving hand that had been stuck in that position for the whole ride. I look up to see the president standing before a podium, and even from here I can see her signature red lips.

She clears her voice, and begins to speak in a strangly unaffected voice.

"Welcome, tributes, to the Capitol. The lovely heart of Panem!" She says, smiling bigger with each word.

"We would like to welcome you to the Capitol, and we hope your visit here will be great. We cannot wait to see how you all do in the Arena, and in the end, we cannot wait to see who emerges victorious!" She exclaims, and the audience burst out in applause. I chuckle at her – she's so…I can't even describe it. She just seems like she's trying way to hard.

She says a few more things, but I don't listen.

Before I know it, my chariot has started to move again, and the conclusion of the ride nears with the stables up ahead. We are taken into the Training Center, which will be our new home until we get into the Games.

The thought causes me to shiver. I'm tough, but I still don't want to think about dying.

As we pull through and she gates shut behind us, the sounds of the audience outside immediately pulls me out of my thoughts. They still scream for us, and they still chant outside.

The Capitol seems to hold the power, but it seems like the citizens hold much more power than they can see. If they're unhappy, then the nation is changed.

I just hope that they're unhappy seeing me die – because I'm terrified to let that happen.

But after all – they say it's just a game in the end.

* * *

Authors Note:

YAYAYAYAY IM DONE

Okay well first off I'm so sorry this took so long to update!  
I've been having some problems with tributes and writers block and my life and it just dragged on for far to long but I'm finally done! :D

Thanks for reading and this is the conclusion of all the tributes ! ;D

Also, the blog is up, so check it out! The link is on my profile. :P

So, would you mind answering these questions? :O

**Which tributes stand out from the blog?**

**Which tributes do you like the most so far?**

I hope you liked this chapter and please review!

Also, I'm starting another SYOT soon, and if you're interested in submitting please PM me! :D

Alrighty then – another update will come much sooner than this one, I promise.

Until then! :P  
-Vix.


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